


Waste of Paint

by kaywaeeve



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Yuri Plisetsky, California, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Musician Otabek Altin, Pining, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-14 14:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 129,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14771681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaywaeeve/pseuds/kaywaeeve
Summary: "The funny - and, oh, so incredibly interesting - thing about inspiration was that he only felt that it was possible during encounters like this, when he set his foot in the park and got his headphones away from his ears – soulful lyrics and blonde hair, the only things that made him feel real. Since he had laid eyes on the blonde, he had never met anyone as breath-taking. And he had mentioned a pair of green eyes in poorly written poems a couple – of a million – times."





	1. (verb) to be

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I started a new work, but I wanted to read this, so here you go.  
> I'm already sorry about how dark this gets, but bear with me. I'd never leave them to suffer. 
> 
> I hope we get to enjoy a well-deserved Otayuri fluff fest the next couple months ♡

       It was a hassle to go through all of the old pieces of paper stashed inside a box he had saved from the day he’d moved – two years prior – to the house he somehow shared with friends (which was ironic since he had denied dorm-life for a reason and that reason had not been his incredible fondness towards company). The guys were alright, though. More than alright, Otabek had grown to realize. He had met the Japanese man, Yuuri, back in Detroit, while the Kazakh was taking a gap year - or two - and always resilient Katsuki was struggling to finish the last semester of his long overdue Psychology major. Otabek had been looking for a private teacher of Japanese and came across Yuuri’s almost desperate ad on Craigslist. It tugged at the Kazakh’s heart. From what he had read, he could relate immensely to the Asian man with glasses on the profile picture. A foreigner, a _student_ , for heaven’s sake, trying to make ends meet in America. The Kazakh had been raised in the city and knew his way around, but it wasn’t like family was in the picture – it wasn’t like he wasn’t alone and afraid. Otabek responded to the Japanese man’s ad when he was eighteen years old. Yuuri was twenty-three. He soon learned that Yuuri had left his university’s campus for “personal reasons” and had been spending his days in a library and his nights at a hostel somewhere downtown. It was clear that his situation was far worse than Otabek’s. At least he had an apartment (it was his sister’s, but she was doing her doctorate back in Astana) and didn’t have to rush subways across town to get to school and back.

          He’d felt for Yuuri. Five years his senior, yes, but someone who could use a hand nonetheless. Otabek offered to meet halfway at a library – since he’d gathered both of them would be comfortable in that environment – for their classes. Otabek had set a goal for himself and that was that he’d learn most Asian languages by the time he turned twenty-five, then he would backpack across the continent, live a completely different life from every one he had lived thus far. With some hope, he’d be able to apply for an internship in a recording company either in Seoul (Korean would be his next language) or Shibuya. Him and Yuuri quickly matched each other’s paces. The Japanese man was quiet and soft-spoken, although always fidgeting on his seat, he was also an excellent teacher. His English was flawless too, only noticeable that it was not the man’s first language because of his tone of voice and speaking flow. Otabek hated this about himself, but he was not able to be around thick accents in any language he knew – six, to be exact. However petty this was, the Kazakh was a linguistics geek and mispronunciation was a pet-peeve of his. And Yuuri never tried to meddle or to infiltrate Otabek’s imaginary bubble, so he offered Yuuri the sofa-bed at his place. The Japanese man could not be convinced, until they settled that, okay, Yuuri would sleep in the living-room, but he’d make Otabek a fluent speaker in return.

           Four years later, now in North Hollywood, him and Yuuri would only converse in Japanese when Phichit and Leo weren’t at home.

           “What are you searching for?” Katsuki asked as he stepped into Otabek’s bedroom. 

            “That-“ He started, kneeling and cheking the piece of paper on the top of the pile in his hands, then placing it underneath to continue, “That stupid poem from the first semester.”

            “The one about Yuri?” Yuuri teased.

            Otabek blushed and shook his head. It wasn’t. Not that one. Yuuri knelt next to him and gathered a pile to scan through as well. The Kazakh sighed heavily in frustration. It was such a bother to have to find that just because another student head supposedly copied it. He didn’t care. It was a stupid poem he had had to turn in even though he was as hungover as a frat boy during pledge week and had written it at the - apparently weekly - booze fast from hell: Sunday night at their house.

          What could they say?  All of them had issues. And all of them hated Mondays.

          That one could not be for Yuri.

           “Which one is it? I’ll help you look” Yuuri offered, gently. _Soft-spoken._

           “I can barely remember” He replied honestly “I think it was something about strength?”

           “So the other one about Yuri.”

           “It could be about Jet fucking Li for all I can recall.”

          The Kazakh wasn’t one to curse. He wasn’t. Really. But he hated having to go through all of his unfinished pieces, forsaken between essays, academic texts and paperwork. He’d caught a glance of a piano piece he had started to compose as a thirteen-year-old, and there were countless similar ones. All so annoyingly generic, so embarrassingly alike, coming to a sudden end as inspiration drew its last breath every time. Lifeless, hopeless – uninspired work by an untalented artist. To hell with all of those, he should have seen them drown and tear and float away when he’d had the chance. A continuous chance he’d had for eight years and hadn’t taken. One he still wasn’t going to take. Maybe the work was hopeless, but, god help him, he wasn’t. Wishing for a flame to die wasn’t the same as having the guts to blow it out. Maybe one day. Maybe in a few hours. Just not right then.

            They kept searching.

 

* * *

 

 

            “Why anyone would want to copy this is beyond me” Otabek said, staring deadpan at the piece of paper in his hand, while sitting at the counter, waiting for a coffee Yuuri had offered to bring him.

            It was vivid that he had been drunk out of his mind to put all of these words together. All of this gibberish about pushing through and being resilient, finding a source of strength in his surroundings. It was almost funny how cliché it had turned out. Such common words, such banal rhymes, such superficial meaning.

           “Didn’t you get an A for that?” the Japanese man asked, confused, as he handed Otabek a mug.

           The Kazakh huffed, looking over at the scarlet letter at the top of the page. Yuuri knew him enough to take it as “I did, didn’t I?”, so his friend let out a little giggle as he shook his head and sipped his coffee.

            It had just been technically perfect.

            The professor had no way out of giving him a perfect grade. Otabek had had her trapped. _Right?_ Of course. Something as shallow as a drunken spitting of nonsense couldn’t — _shouldn’t_ have been creatively praised. Again, why someone would want to copy it was beyond him. Otabek looked down as he drank his coffee when he heard the ring of the Japanese man’s iPhone in the middle of them. Yuuri rushed to grab it, but the Kazakh had had the time to catch a glimpse of the caller’s ID. Even if he hadn’t, the way Katsuki’s whole face was blushing and he had almost spit out his drink would’ve been enough to tell.

           “O-oh, hello, p-“ The Japanese man started and Otabek could feel his glance at him, but he’d decided not to make eye contact. Yuuri should feel comfortable. “-professor.”

           The Kazakh couldn’t help but think why they were still keeping formalities. It was hard to stop Phichit and Leo from pointing out how kinky it was to call one’s boyfriend “professor” during the day, then bed him during the night. But Leo and Phichit were children. And Yuuri insisted him and Professor Nikiforov of Contemporary weren’t dating. Besides, Yuuri was Yuuri. It was just like him to be embarrassed to drop titles – it also came with his first language's customs. And, well, it was none of Otabek’s business. He stood and made his way to wash his Kazakhstan mug. Yuuri didn’t bother to go to a different room, which was good. The goal all along was to make him feel safe inside of his own home. Oh, did Otabek know how hard it was not to be able to be yourself and do what you want inside of the house you’re supposed to live in. It made him glad that Yuuri trusted him and that they shared a bond of some sort. He had never been much of a “people person”, after all.

           “Breakfast?” Katsuki continued, “Mm, I just had my morning coffee, but I haven’t eaten anything yet”

           Again, such impressive English. Otabek had a hard time switching and the accent from the language he had been speaking before would come out in the language he was supposed to speak next. For instance, if he had been the one to receive a call from his sister, he’d answer it in Kazakh, with a Japanese accent. At least English was as natural to him as his first language, otherwise he’d keep himself from talking a lot more than he already did.

           “O-okay, I guess I’ll-” A pause, a giggle, something busting his confidence; Yuuri’s voice got a little steadier and deeper “I’ll meet you there.”

          _Viktor’s good,_ Otabek thought to himself. He walked past Yuuri, who was hushing to gather his belongings and settling his dance bag over his shoulder. It was blue and had the university’s logo on it. He remembered his friend buying it when they visited the campus. Otabek also got his headphones around his neck, original poem in hand, backpack thrown carelessly over one shoulder.

         “Kin, take some time to eat, would you?” Katsuki nagged him in Japanese, already being used to calling him “gold” in his native language; clearly a joke that had gone on for far too long and stuck. Otabek just shook his head and continued walking towards the door, his friend following him. “You need to stop not eating in the morning, coffee in an empty stomach will just give you acid reflux!”

         It was a different head-shake that Otabek gave him. Yuuri was a funny guy, still nagging him like a mom about the same thing. Otabek had told him multiple times he didn’t feel hungry so soon after waking up, and it was only nine. The Kazakh whistled his way out, that unmistakable Kill Bill theme song playing in his head. He heard Katsuki groan behind him.

         “At least get a decent lunch, alright?” The Japanese man demanded. Otabek took it as a way of telling him he would meet Viktor elsewhere, outside of university. Therefore, they wouldn't get the bus together.

         “Kokkou-desu”, Otabek replied and waved his hand “bye” without looking back.

         _Thanks, Yuuri._

* * *

  _Kokkou-desu means "I'm full" in Japanese_

* * *

 

 

  He only had an 11 A.M class, but Otabek didn’t regret taking Katsuki’s cue and leaving two hours early. He enjoyed walking around. It was about the only moment of the day he allowed himself not to be studying, either music or Korean. It was a good forty-minute walk to the North Hollywood Park. He had an entire playlist just for the way there, and a few extras for the days he decided to just sit on a bench and observe the people, even though he was late for his eight A.M already. Living with three other people – nice people, don’t get him wrong – wasn’t exactly what he had planned when he’d left his parents’ house. Otabek had dreamed of living alone since a young age. He used to picture the future as way of coping with all the things going wrong at the house; how dad was “all business”, how mother thought his sister Dahlia was some kind of trial that was put on her path to prove her faith; how Miya and Kaya were fighting over the neighbour’s son, because he had gotten into Yale and they thought he was a valuable bachelor; how the neighbor’s son, Cole, had secretly slept with both of them and Kaya was pregnant with the prodigy’s child; how mother had said Dahlia was a blessing, then, because at least women weren’t allowed to marry each other, so no point in worrying about babies out of wedlock.

           He imagined, one day, he’d move out of Detroit and try his luck in Tampa, maybe he’d even meet One OK Rock there. He’d work anywhere, maybe the roller-coaster park. “How many?”, he’d ask every guest in line, they’d reply and they’d be gone. He wondered if a job like that would be enough to rent a room. How long he’d have to save for a motorcycle. He realized his wonderings were unrealistic. They were a coping mechanism, that was all. His social anxiety would go through the roof at an amusement park.

         Otabek wished to be alone nonetheless. His friends were great at understanding him and giving him space, but he felt like they were always getting the short end of the stick. He felt badly for being selfish, so he wanted to get away from them – and that was also selfish. He found walking to school was sneaky enough not to let them feel that sometimes being around people – even ones he cared about –, for him, was suffocating. There was always a tie around his neck, there was no way of adjusting it. However, he liked them, they were like brothers to him, even the two he’d only known for a little more than a year. So he didn’t feel like he was sacrificing anything, this was important to point out. Not having been built to socialize, or not being able to work through his anxiety was his own issue. It was his own flaw. He wasn’t being nice for trying his best to be around them day-to-day, they were being nice for looking away every time he was his irritable self. Damn, he hated himself for that.

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**EDEN – Rock + Roll**

So tell me this is who you are  
They tell me I've got something more  
And oh, you could be loved  
But I don't want the lights to find me  
When I'm dark and lost but never on my own

 

           He was going to present a thesis about expressing one’s melancholy instrumentally, how feeling sad made it easier to understand music, even for a guy alone in his bedroom, with only a keyboard and BandSlam. There was a lot more Flatsound and Eden in his playlist because of it, but he enjoyed it. Paying attention to lyrics with soul was what allowed himself to be aware that he had his feet on the ground, that he was real and that he existed. Him, and the knots inside of his brain, they were human and humans like him made beautiful music. Maybe one day. When he felt inspired.

             The funny - and, oh, so incredibly interesting - thing about inspiration was that he only felt that it was possible during encounters like this, when he set his foot in the park and got his headphones away from his ears – soulful lyrics and blonde hair, the only things that made him feel real. Otabek learned the boy lived close-by, since Yuuri and Viktor had started… getting to know each other, the Japanese man had told him the blonde was the professor’s nephew and they lived in a loft next to campus, which would be right across the street from park as well. Yuri was buying a snow cone from the vendor. It was blue, like the jean beret he had on and it contrasted intensely with the round, red sunglasses he wore. Otabek was far enough not to be noticed staring. He wouldn’t be able to help it either way. Since he had laid eyes on the blonde, he had never met anyone as breath-taking. And he had mentioned a pair of green eyes in poorly written poems a couple – of a million – times.

             He noticed, as Yuri walked away, that he already had his brushes in the back pocket of his jeans – he usually walked around with two, sometimes three, that Otabek was able to see lurking out.          

             _So he had his 8AM today._

            They were yellow, and the hairs were always different colors. Once, the Kazakh got close enough to see that Yuri let them stain his pants. It was something else he’d learned about the green-eyed beauty; he didn’t care all that much. It was noticeable by the way he walked, how his eyes seemed to wander in disdain when being spoken to, how his hair would create a curve that met his collarbone when Yuri tucked it behind his ear – and how one side seemed to be longer than the other, how it seemed like Yuri cut it himself. Those were all suppositions, however.

 As much as the Kazakh watched him, he couldn’t say he knew much about Yuri Plisetsky. Yuuri tried to comment about encounters with the blonde at the professor’s, none that seemed too pleasant for either of them, but, all in all, Yuri seemed like he would have a number of layers. Layers, on top layers, on top layers, on top layers. Otabek had seen one painting of his at last semester’s traditional art exhibition – a beautiful blonde woman, with long hair and bright green eyes. At first, it was a good portrait. A very well painted portrait, but there were portraits like those everywhere. Until Yuri scratched the entire first layer off with a hunting knife with a holographic blade to reveal the blood dripping from where the woman had stretched her cheeks so much to form that smile that the skin had ripped apart. He had painted every muscle underneath it. It shocked everyone in the room. It got people feeling sick. It got claps from every critic that aligned in front of the crowd. It got Otabek biting his lip and shaking his head, how had he expected any less? It was always better. Always bolder. Always outstanding. Yuri had titled it _Vanity_.

             He knew the eyeliner and the fashion sense were just the first layer.

             It also pained him how, with every layer uncovered, Yuri’s color scheme only seemed to get darker.

             10 A.M. Blue ice cone. Red sunglasses. White V-neck. Golden hair. Green eyes. Black eyeliner.

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**Flatsound – I Exist, I Exist, I Exist**

 

* * *

 

 


	2. Lists (plural)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Chapter two is already here.  
> I hope you enjoy it. :)

         He was the first one to arrive at Introduction to Music Theory. It was only a quarter past ten, but he hardly ever had a room to himself. Damn, were classes crowded. It was easier when they were in auditoriums like this, but most of the time they had to gather in groups in music rooms or sit thigh-to-thigh with whoever felt like mixing next to them that day. He sat at the left corner of the first row (the plan was always to sit close to the professor, then random people wouldn’t try to make conversation with him). Honestly, he felt so fucking condescending, thinking he had to hide away, otherwise people would be interested in talking to him. However, somehow, every time he had had to sit somewhere else, he’d been sucked into plans for a party, or an indie project, or questions about his sexuality. “Are you single?”, “My friend thinks you’re hot, would you go for a guy?”, “Do you like someone in school?” (the answers to all of those were yes, but he just replied with a different question: “Why?”, “Why not?”, “Do you?”) By the way he made them blush, Otabek also realized that he sounded like he was flirting no matter what he tried to say. He understood it, though, the guy who never speaks, speaks to you, refuses to reply to your questions – so mysterious, dangerous, even. He shook his head as he opened his backpack. Such an image was better than the antisocial, nervous wreck that he actually was, Otabek guessed. But he’d still avoid interaction as well as he could.

         The AC was on, so he pulled his black hoodie out of the bag and put it on top of the gray sleeveless longline he had walked to school in. It was March, and maybe it wasn’t all that hot in California, but it would be freezing in Detroit, the same as in Almaty. He didn’t have a very good tolerance to heat, so he wore the thinnest, baggiest shirts he had if toasting in the sun was a must-do. His iPhone beeped.

 

         **dli** > U here already?

         **You > **Where’s that?

 

         Otabek knew where Leo meant, but it was fun catching him red-handed.

 

         **dli > **not at Kristin’s dorm

         **You > [**shaking head gif **]**

         **dli** > pls dont judge me im experimenting

 

        It hit Otabek in times like this that their house was a nest for the sexually confused and sexually confusing. Everything was a mess in those dudes’ sex lives. See, Leo had been saving himself for marriage when they’d met, when the brown-haired man had to repeat the entire semester because he’d screwed his grades to hell when his YouTube channel blew up and his mixes were everywhere in L.A. Otabek would've said he’d made it big as a DJ, but Leo was sulking when he sat next to the Kazakh in First-Year Composition (the class that he’d written the later plagiarized poem for). Leo’s hair was greasy and he looked like he hadn’t slept and was in the cusp of crying as they waited for the professor. Everyone else was so hyped because it was their first university lecture ever, it was kind of comforting to have someone who was not expecting rainbows and butterflies out of an hour and a half of class. Otabek didn’t know at the time that the guy beside him had failed the semester, but the passive-aggressiveness from the professor was a dead giveaway. He swore the man’s face would melt into the palm of his hand if he kept that defeated position any longer. Otabek had had to actually shield the guy from knocking his head against the table with his hand, as Leo sighed in absolute dread. It was sad, really, so Otabek sneaked him an air-bud (he had just started learning Korean)

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

 **Nell** 넬 **– Stay**

Hey, for a long time already,

you're lingering inside me

Now, just think of it as home

 

 

           Otabek was particular about his music. He only listened to great lyrics that sent him somewhere, to someone. By that time, he had just learned that he was studying at the same university as Yuri Plisetsky and was a bit down himself. He was aware of his presence, but still hadn’t seen him anywhere. Leo seemed only the tiniest bit surprised, he didn’t have the energy to find strange having a mysterious object stuck inside his ear. It didn’t take long for him to pay attention to the music, start tapping his fingers quietly, hiding the object with his hair. Leo got into Nell then, and asked Otabek about him after class. They met again at Studio Music Recording I and got together for their first assignment. Leo had started sleeping over so frequently that it only felt natural when he moved in. He’d kept the sofa-bed for the first month, and begged the landlord for the Next three to allow him to put up a wall in the backyard – that no one used – to build himself a bedroom. She finally caved because of a viral tweet challenging his fans to make #LeoNeedsHisSpace a trending topic. Otabek and Yuuri wondered why he didn’t just get his own place, but they got to the same conclusion; he’d feel lonely. And would probably starve to death.

            The neediness was probably what had gotten him into Kristin’s bed. She had found him at school, said she was an aspiring singer, proposed they would collab together. She got the views, he got the warmth. It wasn’t fair, but Leo kept getting played. The point was: a shy, Chinese kid, had approached him at a party in April, said he was a fan, said he was happy to meet him, with flickering eyes and red cheeks. Leo wondered then if he'd stayed a virgin all of his twenty-two years of life because he was a good Christian, or because he had never felt anything quite like when he shook Guang-Hong’s trembling hand. He’d been on what he called “a path to self-discovery” ever since. Phichit called it whoring around. Yuuri called it delaying the truth, since his so-called experiments were always with women and he’d never dared to sleep with a man.

             Otabek called it being bi. Leo had fallen for a boy, but enjoyed having sex with girls. No rocket Science.

             All of them were right. But it was also none of their business.

             And who was Otabek to talk? Only responding in sketchy clubs if someone made a move on him, going as far as they wanted to go, fucking them if they wanted to be fucked, but never keeping them, never going after them. Never sleeping over, never having breakfast. Never kissing first. He’d follow their lead, it was all. His heart had been claimed a long time ago by a person who would never get it. Because Otabek would never give it to them, because they deserved better than a guy who could barely keep his fingers steady while doing a presentation at school. How condescending, thinking it was his decision. Yuri would never want a heart that couldn’t express as much emotion as his art could. Yuri Plisetsky. Otabek was an arrogant bastard for even pining for him.

 

            **You > **MTC101

             **dli** > shit

 **dli** > that’s right

             **dli** > what time is it?

             **You** > Look up.

             **dli** > …

             **dli** > wth r u doing there its 10:30

 

             _Not_ wondering if Yuri had an 11 A.M. too, that was for sure. 

 

             **You** > Listening to “C”. The full album.

            

             He wasn’t. But he gladly would. It was a great album.

 

             **dli** > that’s depressing

             **dli** > …

             **dli** > wait for me

 

 

 

* * *

 

          

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

 **Nell** 넬 **–** **습관적** **아이러니** **(Habitual Irony)**

When I think “There’s no way”

I feel like I could cry

Because you’re not here

 

 

              Leo was smelling like shampoo when he arrived, his hair still drenched, even after running all the way there.

               “Beks!” He shouted as he caught his breath before sitting, “Shit, what don’t I do for some good music…”, he sighed and slowly settled in his seat. Otabek barely acknowledged his presence, but switched from the headphones to the earphones he had already within his reach. He handed the right one to his friend. “Thanks, I’m still too pumped from last night.”

             Otabek vaguely recalled something about a party. He was too into his last translation job to pay attention to what Leo was saying as he left. Given that the Kazakh’s door was closed and he could only hear Leo’s loudness, he forgave himself for forgetting. (On another note, was Yuri still at school? Had he already stained his white shirt? What colors had he splashed on it?) The man with closed eyes and black hoodie absent-mindedly let his head rest on the wall and crossed his arms on his chest. Nell made beautiful music. He sensed Leo scooching closer to be able to keep the earphone in place. _Selfish,_ Otabek pointed out to himself. He noticed every time.

              Habitual Irony had such a dreamy musicality, but it also pleased his personality with its post-rock instrumental. It was a song supposed to be listened with your eyes closed, he thought. It was a sin how Leo kept his wide open. The instrumental grew through the song in a crescendo of emotions; it started like a little march and slowly turned into a powerful rock track with strong guitars and some synths, giving it a nice electronic feel. Jongwan’s voice was something he couldn’t even find proper words for. Otabek loved how his vocals changed from smooth to a rougher timbre when the song actually took off.* A song about a love you don’t know if you’ll be able to move on from. A love that you are afraid of acknowledging, yet has grown habitual to nurture. That was the irony of the whole thing. How fitting.

                 “Won’t you ask me about last night?”, Leo questioned, in the time it took for the next song to start.

                 Otabek shrugged, the heavy synths in his ears not allowing him to be distracted.

 

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

 **Nell** 넬 **–** **Day After Day**

My lips are drying up

I go and go but I can’t see the end

Only thirst increases

 

 

               “Are you sure?” His friend insisted, “You might wanna.”

 

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

 **Nell** 넬 **–** **Day After Day**

It’s clearly not that easy

I never thought it would be

Every moment is a struggle

But still, I will run

 

                

                 “I saw your thousand-year crush at the party.”

                 Otabek wanted to open his eyes then. He didn’t. However, he wasn’t paying attention to the music anymore, it was an electronic sound from a distant dream. Why did Leo take so long to speak? Otabek bumped his knee into his friend’s to encourage him to continue. He could _feel_ the smirk on that dude’s face.

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

 **Nell** 넬 **–** **Day After Day**

Just wait

Don’t fade away

Like always, from that spot

Wait for me

Day after day

 

                  “I thought he was single, at least, man.” The sentence came as a shock that made every muscle in Otabek’s abdomen contract. His eyes opened against his will. “I’m sorry I pestered you so much to go after him”, Leo said naturally, no weight in his words. “I didn’t know he was dating someone.”

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

 **Nell** 넬 **–** **Day After Day**

 

My sight is getting blurrier

My legs are losing strength, I’m falling

Every breath is coming up to my throat

 

                        “Me… neither.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

  

        He couldn’t recognize the feeling. It was something that weighed on his lungs, that scratched at his heart, that stole his rational thinking away from him. What was it?

       “You’re jealous?” Leo had asked in challenging tone. He wasn’t. Probably.

      Maybe he had been for the whole two minutes it had taken for his friend to tell the whole story: he’d assumed a red-haired woman Yuri had made out with at the party was his girlfriend.

      “Is Kristin _your_ girlfriend?” Otabek had retorted. It was clear who had won; Leo washed the night before’s sex in the woman’s shower and she still was nothing more than a friend to him, it had only been a fun night. Yuri had the right to kiss whoever he wanted. Hell, he had the right to fuck whoever he wanted. Why did it hurt so terribly to have it rubbed all over his face? Otabek knew nothing about him. Maybe the girl from the party was the blonde’s girlfriend. How old was he? Eighteen? Nineteen? Damn it. Otabek wanted to beat himself up. He didn’t have the right to be wondering about Yuri. He didn’t have a reason to try to explain Yuri’s relationship status to himself. Yuri was free. As he was supposed to be. And that meant free of a despicable personality like Otabek’s, he’d decided.

         As much as he tried to shake this feeling for the next ninety minutes, there was still something else digging beneath the Kazakh’s skin. It was _vicious_ and _hungry_ and kept taking him back to moments he treasured deep within his soul. When Yuri bumped into him at the cafeteria on the first day back, for instance, with his blonde hair tied up, a pink drink in his hand, yellow t-shirt that matched his locks tucked in black high-waisted jeans. He wondered what was written on it at the time. And, as he blatantly ignored his lecture, Otabek wondered what he could’ve said. He’d murmured “sorry”, but it probably hadn’t been loud enough to reach Yuri’s ears.

        “Lift up your head, asshole” The blonde had complained as he walked away. Otabek had had options other than just looking back and watching - his brushes were yellow, he’d painted something purple and dark green that day -, he started listing them absent-mindedly on his notebook.

 

A LIST OF THINGS OTABEK COULD HAVE SAID **by The Asshole With his Head Down**

  * I’m sorry (louder)
  * Did you spill your drink?
  * Hey, by the way, what does your shirt say?
  * Are you seeing anyone, by chance?
  * Otabek. Big fan.
  * Were you painting today? May I see it?



 

      He wavered. The tip of his mechanic pencil ghosted over the paper, his eyelids starting to feel heavy, but his heart was feeling warmer, because it was so true.

 

  * I’m so intrigued by you.
  * Would you let me know you?
  * Where does it hurt?



                

            He scratched everything. Would it have been pointless? Maybe he would’ve been able to make conversation with Yuri. Maybe they would hang out once, twice, a third time, if he was lucky. Then he’d introduce Yuri to a bedroom that’s as plain as the next guy’s, he’d show Yuri music he’d listened a thousand times before, Yuri would meet Otabek’s friends and they would go on about how closed off he was, about how he had never been in a relationship with anyone before, how he had only been able to keep a one-sided crush that was comfortably hidden, because he was afraid of people.

            He had such strange feelings inside of himself. A thirst for self-knowledge that told him being around people was a distraction. That people in general were distracted. He was hungry for something that would claw its way into him like Yuri’s blade had scratched out the paint of _Vanity._ Maybe Yuri would… Maybe Yuri could…

            Otabek sighed.

            _Selfish._

 

A LIST OF THINGS OTABEK COULD HAVE SAID **by The Asshole With his Head Down**

 

  * ~~I'm sorry (louder)~~
  * ~~Did you spill your drink?~~
  * ~~Hey, by the way, what does your shirt say?~~
  * ~~Are you seeing anyone, by chance?~~
  * ~~Otabek. Big fan.~~
  * ~~Were you painting today? May I see it?~~
  * ~~I’m so intrigued by you?~~
  * ~~Would you let me know you?~~
  * ~~Where does it hurt?~~



_✔_ Sorry (louder)

      

 

* * *

 

 

          He couldn’t remember a thing from the lecture. Maybe because he hadn’t heard a single word. The feeling that itched at him was like a blank in a language. He kept searching for that exact word to describe it, he knew that he had heard it, maybe even used it at some point, but it seemed like it was hiding in a dark corner inside his head. English was a no-go. Maybe in Japanese he’d find it, maybe it was one amongst the couple thousand Kanji Yuuri had left in post-it notes on his door over the years. Nothing. Kazakh? Nope. Portuguese. Latins were deep like that, but Otabek hadn’t gotten that deep into the language itself. Russian only reminded him that it’d been a long time since he’d heard the language in Yuri’s voice. Spanish? The Latin again.  He was too new to Korean to even consider it (or just as much a stranger to the language as he was to his own feelings). Anyhow, he had to go give the original poem to professor Lane. He thought of asking her about it - the woman was as linguistically wholesome as a dictionary -, but who was he kidding? Couldn’t even ask her where the hell that A – and every one after that – had come from.

         She was about to get into class when Otabek found her. Still a rigid-looking lady, with caramel hair, a lot nicer than she looked, but just as smart, holding her books against her chest and murmuring something to herself. She was always creating something and seemed not to notice that she would slightly mouth her thoughts. Otabek did the same thing sometimes. Words were too fluid to be filtered before reaching the lips – it was better… No, just more comfortable, to keep your mouth shut than the words right.

            “Professor Lane” He called, right as she was about to open the door. She turned her head and Otabek showed her the paper. “Here, you’d asked for it, right?”

            She showed him a smile. The wrinkle between her brows smoothly fading. The woman took the paper from him. Otabek was glad to let it go, but he got nervous as she arranged her books in one arm to be able to read it in front of him. She kept nodding and humming some tune to herself.

           “Just as I remembered it” She told him. “Such expressive writing.”

           “Thank you” Otabek murmured. _For the gentle words that you know how to let skip from your lips._

“Have you been writing lately? The Professor asked, sounding interested,  even as a student passed through the door before her.

            _I have. I never stopped._

“Trying.” He replied.

            The wrinkle showed itself again.

            “Writer’s block? Don’t worry, you’ll get through it. You’re a talented kid.”

             He was going to thank her again when she interrupted. “Actually, would you mind reading it to the Freshmen? You know they just turned in the same assignment and I’ve just finished grading them, therefore… Kinda needed to show them how it was supposed to have been done, if you’re comfortable.”

             _I’m not._

“You may read it, professor. I have plans with a friend right about now, but, please, do whatever you want with it.” _Burn it._

“Thank you, Otabek” She gave him a smile, “Maybe a few drinks will get you through that writer’s block.”

              By the way she raised both of her eyebrows, Otabek was certain that she’d always known about the booze fest from hell on the night before her Monday lecture.

 

* * *

 

 

           The cafeteria wasn’t as crowded as it usually was. There was a festival promoted by the Performance Arts committee. They weren’t unusual. If his memory were correct, there was an elective for organization of events in their grade. There were supposed to be food-trucks in front of the theater, and there should probably be some delicious food being sold. The re-heated lasagna Otabek had in front of him smelled nothing like meat tacos. Oh, well. At least, it was quieter.

            “This isn’t what I would call a decent lunch, Kin” The Japanese man pointed out, in English, as he seated in front of the Kazakh.

             He wasn’t startled by Yuuri inviting himself into the table, but the silver-haired man also sitting across from him did make Otabek nervous. Viktor was good for Yuuri, he knew that for sure, but they hadn’t exactly been introduced to each other yet. The Kazakh expressively shrugged, hoping that would be a nice enough response, and led his Sprite to his lips like an oxygen mask. He was very aware of the aluminum hole sucking his sensitive skin into the can, and his tongue wandered aimlessly around its edge. He knew he had a neutral expression on. He had learned that much throughout the years.

            “It’s good to finally meet you in person, Otabek. Yuuri says wonders about you.” _A bright smile. Sparkling eyes. No jealousy. Genuinely nice._ The Kazakh let the can sit on the table. “I’m Viktor”

            Otabek reached out and shook the hand offered to him. “My pleasure, Professor Nikiforov.”

            “Oh, please, you too?” The Russian feigned frustration “I’m only a few years older than you, let’s drop the formalities, mm?”

            Viktor’s accent was barely there, but his voice was charged with the most classic of Russian tones. It was pleasantly interesting how his R’s stood in the middle, not rolled, but also not blendable. Otabek wondered if Yuri’s Russian accent would slip sometimes. When he was in a hurry, when he got angry, maybe as he talked in his sleep. It wasn’t noticeable when he presented his pieces – there was a faint accent there, but a lay ear wouldn’t be able to pinpoint where it belonged to. However, when they had bumped into each other, it’d seemed thicker. Maybe the blonde was impulsive and wore his heart in his sleeve, not thinking about controlling his tongue when the nerves got to him.

            Otabek nodded. “Sure, Viktor” and Yuuri was the one who blushed to his ears.

            “See, Yuu~ri?” The silver-haired man nuzzled into Katsuki’s hair. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

           “It is to me. Otabek went rogue a long time ago.” The Kazakh raised an eyebrow and Yuuri challenged by doing the same. “He even calls his parents by their first--” uuri stopped and already looked regretful. Viktor had turned towards him as well. _Natural reaction. Not that interested._

“Yep, I’ve been calling them by their first names since I - what was it? -” he pretended not to remember, teasing, _to make Yuuri feel comfortable_ “Went rogue?”, then he smiled, honestly. “Sorry I can’t help you there, Viktor. But you...” He turned his glance to Yuuri and pointed his fork at him, “you should be glad Phichit and Leo aren’t here, otherwise this conversation would’ve taken a whole different—“

           _OW._ He felt a dull pain on his shin because of how Yuuri had kicked it under the table. Otabek managed to not react, but fuck, did dancers have strong feet.

            “We didn’t come here to talk about that anyway” The Japanese man shifted the subject, “Here’s the thing…”

            They’d known each other for years. Yuuri had such characteristic quirks: he would adjust his glasses constantly while giving them lectures about their sleeping hours or the Sunday Booze Fest from Hell (that Katsuki took part in, but regretted it bitterly in the morning: “Let’s not do this again, okay? We’re all adults here.”) There were two kinds of here’s-the-thing: “Here’s the thing, you’ve been locked inside too much. I’m worried about you” or the here’s-the-thing that came before Yuuri suddenly clashing his hands together and bowing. Like right about then. Seriously… Too precious for this world.

             “It’sYuriPlisetsky’sbirthdaytonightandhewantsme’he’asintheprofessornottheboybecauseohdoeshehatemebutthethingis…”

_It’s Yuri Plisetsky’s birthday tonight and he wants me to go – “he” as in the professor, not the boy, because, oh, does he hate me -, but the thing is…_

“You want me to tag along, so you don’t have to go as Viktor’s date?”. Otabek had known him for far too long not to make sense of Yuuri’s nervous speed-talking, and not to help him make his point since the guy found it too hard. The Japanese man just shrunk in his seat and whimpered.

             “It’d be a pleasure to have you with us, Otabek, if you aren’t busy.”, Viktor tried to keep it casual in his words, but his eyes were as pleading as a little kid’s.

             The ones in front of him didn’t really have to go into depth regarding the invitation. Otabek was able to understand; it was a birthday party, there would probably be family members and Viktor, as in love with Yuuri as he was, wanted to show him around, to have him slowly become a part of it himself. Sure, everything was understandable. If it were anybody else’s birthday… Did it have to be…

             Why wasn’t he saying “no” already?

             “Wouldn’t any of the guys want to go?” Otabek asked, meaning their housemates.

             Yuuri sighed. “Already asked, but Phichit’s mom’s still sick and Leo has to DJ tonight.”

             Of course, of course. Otabek knew both of those things. He turned his glance to the blue-eyed man.

             “Isn’t it Yuri Plisetsky’s party, though? He doesn’t even know me, how can I just… go?”

              _Give me how. How_ can _I just go?_

 “Yurotchka doesn’t know a thing. He doesn’t really celebrate birthdays, but his grandmother wants to bring him a cake and how can I deny my own mother?" Viktor dropped his gaze, there was some sort of pity in his expression "But little Yuri really does hate the convention of it all. So I think it might actually be better if there’s other people there. More of a social gathering than a birthday party, see?”

            _Oh._

            Yuri cut his own hair. He let his brushes stain his pants. He had an 8AM on Thursdays. He wore black winged eyeliner. There was no one in the world like him.

            Yuri didn’t really celebrate birthdays. He hated the convention of it all. He’d been born on the first of March. There was no one in the world like him.

            A list of nothings Otabek knew.

 

            However harmless those two were, Otabek had been trapped by them in a very tight space. Viktor probably didn’t know about the youngest's crush on his nephew, so there wasn’t a way of using that as a reason not to go. Was he ready to see more than a glance of Yuri? How would he react? And what was this feeling that had followed him through the halls, throughout this meal, barely hiding itself during this conversation? Otabek asked himself what he wanted. His first instinct was to go. Just because. Yuri would be there – enough of a reason. But he questioned himself like he had taught his brain to do: he wanted to, but should he? It wasn’t a direct invitation from the blonde ( _I mean, as if)._ And also… Considering he did go, considering he did put on his mask and turned up at Yuri’s home, at his own birthday party, what would Otabek do? Observe him quietly from a corner? Considering he did let himself look, would Yuri be kissing a red-haired woman? Or anyone at all?

            Otabek didn’t know if it was smart to set himself up for stumbling on his words, on his feelings, on his own two feet on the way out of the limbo that had been his connection to Yuri. He didn’t want to know if it would hurt.

            Someone else, wishing him a happy birthday with a bright smile, in front of everyone. Someone else, bringing Yuri a gift – would they be able to find holographic paint brushes? –, telling the blonde that they loved him, that they wished him the world, without worrying if they would be able to indeed give it to him. Someone else, draping their fingers in his hair, caressing his cheek like it was made out of silk, watching as its color changed, gradually getting warmer, burning its way to Yuri’s green eyes like a forest fire.

            Someone else. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

            Otabek hadn't wanted to know if it would hurt. It did. Whatever it was that made it feel like his heart was coming to a stop, it did. It hurt.

            “Kin?” Yuuri called him and Otabek realized his eyes weren’t focusing anywhere.

            It made him shift on his seat. He didn’t like it. The feeling, the foresight of heartache, the sleepless nights, the anxiety, the self-consciousness. He’d had enough of that.

            “I’ll go if I finish translating for Luan in time.” The Kazakh told them, both of them, and quickly got ready to leave. To be alone.

            It hurt, wanting.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've probably already realized that Otabek isn't a reliable narrator.  
> Yuri will be making his big entrance in the next chapter!
> 
> * Otabek's critique of the song was made by someone who knows more about music than me on Amino.


	3. Green: жасыл; зеленый; verde; グリーン; 녹색

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three is here already!  
> It got too long, however, so I'm going to leave the last chapter break for the beginning of chapter four.  
> &  
> Thank you very much for your comments, they mean a lot to me. ♡

* * *

   

 

       March, the 1st.

       So it meant it had been close to Yuri's birthday when that happened, the day when Otabek saw him for the first time, as a child, with his blonde hair slicked back tightly and tied in a low pony-tail, wearing a three-piece in shades of gray that was too somber for a little boy. It would’ve been understandable if Yuri just didn’t like celebrating it, but maybe he didn’t want to indirectly celebrate something else. Yuri couldn’t have been more than ten when his slender body made the stand look larger than usual, even more intimidating than it already was. How traumatic must it have been to speak such burdensome truths in a court full of adults – older than him, taller than him, corrupted.

         Otabek didn’t walk back home. He let his mind wander on the bus, his headphones hugging his ears, singing him into a conscious dream.

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

 **Nell** 넬 **–** **Time Walking Through Memories**

The music led him back to Almaty, as a hopeful teenager, the only son in the Altin household. He had only turned thirteen, his hair was still styled nicely, like the heir of a respectable family; it was also still its natural brown color (Otabek had dyed it black as soon as he’d left home). He had just come back from school, feeling accomplished because a little Golden pin, a medal of sorts had been placed on his uniform’s dark blue jacket. That afternoon, he had walked home knowing that he’d hear “Good work” and “Keep it up”, not “Work harder” or “No computer for you today”. His mother and maternal grandparents were sitting in front of the TV in the living room, granting it their undivided attention. Nobody turned to him, therefore nobody caught the round piece of gold-bathed metal displayed on his chest. He could recognize the sounds of the 5 o’clock news, the stern tone of the reporter announcing the live broadcast of the deposition of the Russian Minister of Economic Development’s son. His parents and adult relatives had been talking about the whole corruption scandal involving Mikhail Dietrich for an amount of years he had forgotten to count, since the investigation had stretched out for an eternity (as it did in politics).

             As a matter of fact, Otabek had only gone back to Almaty because the trial was affecting Kazakhstan’s economy as well and his father’s company was in a delicate situation. He remembered arriving there in December, and he remembered that they had celebrated Dahlia’s birthday, which was in the end of February and she had come out on the first of April, the day they went back to Detroit and every one tried to take it as an April Fools joke. So it must have been in March that he had first seen Yuri. And, if it had, then it had to have happened around the boy's birthday. Otabek shook his head slightly and let out a huff. If he already thought Yuri was the strongest being he’d ever come across before knowing this fact, then, on the bus ride home, Otabek had been won. Everything that Yuri was deserved his years of thinking about him, of being inspired by him, of watching him pass unknowingly by Otabek without a second look on campus. And Yuri deserved the feeling, the foresight of heartache, the sleepless nights, the anxiety, the self-consciousness. And that it hurt. The bothersome emotions, the tachycardia, the nakedness of being in love, Yuri had it coming for him since that day.

             Since the time thirteen-year-old Otabek had gone to the kitchen, poured his milk in the bowl and the cereal right after, then his mother called him to the living room because he "needed to know”; it was important for his father’s business. Since he had sat on the couch, then been slapped on the shoulder to fix his posture and wondered why he had to watch the kid - Otabek had _won a medal_ for Excellence that day, for crying out loud. He had straightened his spine anyway, and he was careful not to let the spoon hit his teeth like his mother had taught him, and not to let the crunching be too loud; it was impolite, like his mother had taught him.

            Why did he have to sit there and watch the poor kid testify for his criminal of a father? It was like watching a child being coerced by an adult; of course he wouldn’t know any better, what was he? _Ten?_ The colors on the television were too opaque. He wondered why footage in crime shows always looked like that, like they had been filmed with security cameras. The speech from the defense lawyer was so clearly manipulated, it was embarrassing. What a waste of screen time. All of this jibber-jabber only to ask the kid what his name was.

           The way the blonde held his head down made Otabek sad. _Seriously, poor kid._ It wasn’t his fault his father was a “money-laundering bastard”, as the teen’s father had told him.

           _“It’s Yuri.”_

          Otabek’s whole train of thought turned into an interrogation mark. The kid’s voice wasn’t like he imagined; it was clear as day. Firm. Not a second of hesitation. Telling the world his name like an omen in still child-like Russian that became a force through his gritted teeth. _Kudos to him. Wow._ He realized he had lost the control of the loudness of his crunching when Ana told him “Otabek, that’s rude”.

“Sorry, I was distrac—“

          The kid looked up. In a flash, the screen wasn’t opaque anymore. Everything was vivid, violent, glistening green.

            _“Yuri Plisetsky_ _Dietrich.”_

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

 **Flatsound –** **I Exist, I exist, I exist**

I haven't stopped crying

My father's been drinking

I need a place to stay

I don't want to be here

He's saying the words that

He promised he would never say

         

* * *

 

 

  

        Otabek took his shirt off first thing when he got home. Everyone else was supposed to be out, so he unplugged the headphones and let the music blast inside of the house. He needed a shower. No, he should go to the gym – maybe he’d tire his heartstrings steady. They had been resonating loudly, an echo that vibrated through his insides, making his lungs quake and his stomach tingle uncomfortably. Fuck, he needed a drink. Maybe one would turn this impulse into a weeping drunk, losing its way before things got ugly.

         _Jack and Coke._ He reached for the cabinet and read the yellow post-it on the black label that said “Yuuri, don’t” that Katsuki had placed there as a reminder.

        He wasn’t Yuuri.

        Otabek pulled the Jack Daniels bottle out and poured it in a heavy whiskey glass. What was he doing? It wasn’t even Sunday. Was this what he called being in control? Drinking in the afternoon to minimize his love-struck-teenager urges? It was pathetic. The Kazakh took it all in one gulp before even mixing the Coke in.

         Bad idea. The burn was awful. It was as good as a slap in the face, though. He was twenty-one years old, had a job to do, a degree to get, the entire world to explore and a Harley to buy on top of all of that. He didn’t have the time not to be in control. Otabek wanted to make his existence Yuri Plisetsky’s canvas, but how vulnerable was that? If he let himself go, he might drink Yuri neat and Yuri was a fire that could burn his throat raw.

         He’d go to the gym. It was close-by anyway and he’d somehow sweat the madness away. He asked himself how valid that was since it was already hot as hell in California and the sweat did nothing more than salt him like some kind of sea creature, hooked by the lips out of the water and into an asphyxiating space. Yuri never looked as disheveled in the sun as Otabek did, though. He was about to go change when Yuuri came barging in, in a hurry. The Japanese man stopped, however, when his eyes caught Otabek, shirtless, sweating, probably blushing from the alcohol, ALT-J playing loudly in the living-room. Katsuki squinted his eyes at him.

        “Did you bring someone home?” Yuuri implied, looking at the Kazakh up and down.

        Otabek took a glance at his own chest for a second. “It’s just the heat, Yuuri.”

        “You’re in heat?” The man in glasses teased in Japanese, a smile appearing on his face. Otabek smiled back as he shook his head. Yuuri must’ve been trying to cheer him up. “Can we talk for a second? I promise I’ll be quick.”

        The regretful expression from earlier flashed in the Kazakh’s mind. His friend was going to apologize. He didn’t have to, but he would. Last time Otabek had tried to tell Katsuki that there was no need, he found the Japanese man crying on their doorstep. Yuuri needed it, it was cathartic to him. Then okay. The Kazakh nodded and a sigh of relief escaped the other man’s throat. He’d been nervous. Otabek wondered what he was supposed to do to make himself less intimidating, if he was even capable.

        “I’ll just make a quick sandwich for the Professor, he hasn’t eaten anything all day” Yuuri said, making his way to the fridge.

       “Is he coming over?” the Kazakh asked, louder, finding another shirt in his bedroom.

       “He’s outside” the Japanese man replied as Otabek walked back into the kitchen “He gave me a ride home, but his hands were so cold, I swear, I couldn’t just let him drive off without giving him something to up his blood pressure.”

        _Caring._  

      They lived in the stereotypical bachelor pad. A bunch of university students who drank too much and cleaned too little, all of them at fault for the electric bill that was too high for people that spent most of the time out, but fair enough for the guys who forgot to turn off the AC and left the bathroom light on because they had hit the snooze button too many times and were running late for school. However, Yuuri was, times a million, more caring than any of them. His family had raised him in a loving home and, as he made the Asian chicken salad he left in the fridge for anyone who might want it – the one that was being spread on the bread for Viktor’s snack -, he'd talked about how his mother would make it for him when he was too insecure about his weight. Both of Yuuri’s parents had already passed away, but his sister – as Otabek’s – sent him goods from Hasetsu all the time and Yuuri would smile every time they FaceTimed. Katsuki always had a look like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders when he talked to Mari.

“Can you believe him?” the Japanese man complained, cutting the sandwich into two triangles “He’s been working all day, _all day_ , Kin, on only good-for-nothing waffles we had in the morning. What do I do with him?”

       Otabek helped by finding a container for him and opening it in front of Yuuri before reaching to the fridge. Had Yuri eaten? Was he overworking himself too?

        “You could call him by his name, for starters.” Otabek replied, not looking at Yuuri “What does he like to drink?”

        “Lemonade. There’s still some behind the apple juice” Yuuri secured the container and cleared his throat. He was holding the empty glass when Otabek looked his way, lemonade in hand. “You could _not_ drink Jack in broad daylight, _for starters._ ”

        Otabek smirked. “Day and night are meaningless to me since I went rogue.”

        “They shouldn’t be” Yuuri stated, pouring the lemonade into a silver thermal bottle, then turning to Otabek. “This is bad for you, Kin, and you matter.”

        The Japanese man looked like he had more to say, but he fidgeted on his feet and said “Hang on” before jogging his way to the door.

        "Wait! Yuuri!" Otabek rushed to find the green bags that Dahlia had sent him. They were salted cucumber Lay's that the Kazakh had never been able to find in America and Russian pine nuts. He also jogged to meet Yuuri by the door. "Give these to Viktor, maybe they like them."

       The Japanese man looked at the bags and then back at him, with eyes that felt sorry and eyes that were proud.

       "I'll make sure Yuri gets them."

       Otabek didn't have the time to ask not to tell that he had been the one who sent the snacks, but he trusted that he didn't have to. Yuuri was still in his black leggings, a dark blue robe cardigan loosely tied around his waist. Otabek wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t been able to focus during rehearsal because of the slip of his tongue from earlier and wanted to come home as fast as he possibly could to explain everything Otabek already knew. It was what he did, as they sat on the couch, bodies diagonally turned to each other. Yuuri would talk about his impulse-control first, then he'd bad-mouth himself some and finally apologize for no reason at all. It had all gone smoothly, Viktor hadn't learned about the conflicts in his family. Not even about what his nephew meant to him. Their trust was still intact. About the birthday party, Otabek knew. He understood everything. It was himself that impaired a perfectly simple request of a friend.

            “Kin-kun, I wasn’t thinking. I just couldn’t say ‘no’, you know? I mean, his family will be there, and I’m his student, for Christ’s sake… We’re not even in a real relationship, and I know it’s crazy for me to think that I can just mingle with them, right?” Yuuri huffed and his lips formed a smile, but that wasn’t quite what it was. “But he thinks it’s so natural and I wish… I wish we could do that, but how can I? He’s Viktor Nikiforov, and I’m just a 26-year-old who owns half an olsen and doesn’t even run it for dancing, how ridiculous is that?” Yuuri looked up as he scoffed. He was tearing up, Otabek was sure of it. “I… I don’t what I’m doing. I didn’t mean to get you involved, specially knowing that Yuri is important to you and I almost spoke about your parents. God, I'm such a mess. When he suggested I brought you guys, I just—I don’t even know. I’m sorry I put you in that situation.” The Japanese man’s hand found Otabek’s knee. “You don’t need to go, okay? Me neither. I still have to practice anyway.”

           It was hard to speak, as much as the Kazakh should and wanted. There were so many counterarguments to everything. However, it wouldn’t make a difference to tell Yuuri that he was wrong. Deep inside, he already knew that those were his demons talking and all he wanted was to vent them, to open the gates and let the beasts run into arms that were already familiar with them, that wouldn’t try to beat them or run away from them. Otabek would sit there and listen because it was the one thing he knew how to do. Being the trusted ear was a priceless gift Yuuri had given him a long time ago.

           How to repay him? For the Japanese lessons and the concern, for the chicken salad in the fridge and all the nagging. But, also, how to help him get out of the prison that they were both trapped inside, in different quarters, for different crimes, different circumstances? Yuuri was innocent. He had been innocent the whole time.

          “You’re a smart guy who’s going for his second degree” Otabek said, getting up to avoid his friend’s eyes. He ruffled Katsuki’s black hair as he walked past him. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

          The Kazakh couldn’t see it, as Yuuri was still sitting with his back turned to him, but he could imagine the shy smile on his face. He could be saved. He should be happy.

          _Well, screw it, I’m already fucked anyway._

“Get up, Yuuri.”

          The Japanese man only turned his head and Otabek gestured with his hand instead of repeating the command. Yuuri did as he was told and the Kazakh walked to the back of the couch and started dragging it from the middle of the living room towards the wall.

           “What are you doing?”

           “You have to practice, right?” He replied, turning to the front to push what had remained until the dark brown leather slammed against the wall. “What time is the party?”

           “What?”

           “What time is it.”

           “It’s at eight, but I already told you—“

           Otabek took out his iPhone from the speaker and replaced it with Yuuri’s.

           “You have two hours.” _Which means I have two hours to translate seven thousand words to Portuguese._ “We’re going.”

 

* * *

 


	4. (latin) Obra-Prima

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meaning "Masterpiece"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the first time I was able to manage a slow burn.  
> I hope you like the fourth chapter!

 

         They were well aware that Viktor Nikiforov was rolling in it, just couldn’t have guessed in how _much_. Yuuri was mumbling words of self-deprecation all the way to the elevator, through all the security and a pool that was the size of their entire house. The building was clean, coated in white and tones of blue, finished with slate. There was a gigantic water fountain that they could probably swim in, or drown. Otabek wouldn’t let it show, but he was feeling sick. Not because of the luxuriousness of their surroundings, since he’d had a pretty high living until his late teens, but because he shouldn’t have gone there. He’d acted on impulse again and, at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do, therefore it'd been easy to step on his worries, but the realization that he was making the way that Yuri made every day was frightening. Otabek felt like he had never been as close to him as when he pressed the elevator button; something the blonde ought to have done a million times without realizing the worth of his fingertips, not knowing the value that his finger _prints_ held because Yuri had hands that could push a person into a fiery pit or pull them out of paralysis. It meant something to touch where he had touched. Otabek didn’t know how he could possibly be closer to Yuri than he was right then. He was, again, so deeply overwhelmed by him without even breathing the same air; like the boy was a cloud that protected him from the heat, but sent thunders that warned him not to get into the water – there was a storm coming, and it would pour. And he was the dumbass looking for the nearest tree for shelter.

         _Only to get struck, only to get struck._

 Otabek wished he, at least, could put on his earphones and get away from reality even if it were just superficially. However, Yuuri kept biting his nails and murmuring “Oh, God, let’s just go back” and little variations of it. The Kazakh couldn’t just log off and leave his friend unattended, although he didn’t know how to encourage him since it would sound untruthful. The sane part of his brain also told him to go back, but he was already there and wasn’t one to back down. He wondered if it was best for Yuuri to stay and thought that it probably was; it would be nerve-wrecking at first, but some bridges had to be built between them, something that brought Viktor and Yuuri closer. It wasn’t the first time that the Japanese man had been to the Russian’s home, but never with people other than the nephew around. And, for what Otabek understood, Yuuri wanted to be there. He’d said that he “wished” that he could, right?

          As for the tan, black-haired man with an undercut, he praised himself for looking so calm in the elevator mirror. He also wanted to punch himself in the face for not being able to show expressions, and for looking so out of place next to white-stripes-blue-stripes Yuuri, with his thin long-sleeve shirt and dark blue jeans, hair slicked back and contacts on. The Kazakh was wearing a sleeveless, plain black hoodie that made background for dark grey and silver necklaces; crosses, angel-wings, the good-in-evil part of a yin-yang. As he touched the pendants, the tattoo of the snake that wrapped itself around his forearm looked up at him.

           “You’ll break”, it told him.

           That was one of the reasons why Otabek had it there in the first place, to remind him that he could break; that he’d broken before. He accepted it, he carried it around, he had learned to enjoy it and tame it; the bad. He would break. He would. And he could see it. There was no way out of this tight-rope other than falling. The other reason that he had inked the bad into his skin was that it was a thrill to challenge it. To be in control of it. So he would.

           The Kazakh swallowed, used his hands to make his still humid hair a little messier – he had started using it more to the right side, strands falling on his forehead and the black and silver piercings he had on his left ear balanced each other and the rest of his look: so true to him, a living tug-of-war between the dark and the light. It was still annoying how his train of thought would change if influenced by anxiety or by his own principles. It was a painful existence, always looking forward to watching who would win. Sometimes he fought, it was true. Sometimes fighting was too much a hassle. Sometimes he fell in love with the strange feelings he carried inside, they were so odd and complex – if he met someone that shared them, they would be inspiring to him. And he would want to know more. Maybe it was because he was yet to learn how to manage those feelings that they _still_ were nothing but a bother to people.

         _Again_ , with the shifting thoughts. He needed to get a grip. And to stop being so philosophical about every stupid thing. The elevator doors opened. They led straight to a spacious living room with porcelain tile floors. It was alarmingly gray. Everything. Otabek realized that the walls, the floor, the couch, the kitchen counter, everything must look immaculate white during the day, but, since they were walking under dim lights and the panoramic view of beyond the Hollywood freeway didn’t add the slightest of colors… _Gray. Allarmingly._ Even the street poles seemed to be opaque through the glass. Otabek found contrast in the dining chairs and, of course, the TV and the night sky, but he would’ve never pictured Yuri living in a place that was so visually cold. It matched the entire building, and Viktor himself - it seemed like he was also part of the scenery, with his silver hair and striking blue eyes. But Yuri had locks that were like the sun and it felt wrong that he had to be eclipsed like this.

 

          Or maybe the blonde liked it. Otabek didn’t know. He didn’t know anything and should stop pretending to.

 

          Viktor rushed to pull Yuuri into a tight hug. The Japanese man hesitated to respond, complained in his ear, but the Russian just kept telling him how handsome he looked and how he was happy that he was there. It was a pretty scene when Katsuki finally hugged the silver-haired man back, his pale hands tugging at the beige and blue sweater. Viktor hugged Yuuri like he was a nest and Yuuri was a bird. It was the warmest visual in the entire room until a red-haired woman walked out of one of the halls and made her way towards them. It was too good to be true that nobody had arrived yet.

          “Vitya!” she whined “He’s not even ready yet and dedushka i babushka are on their way!”

         She didn’t seem to have realized that there were other people there and smiled shyly at Otabek as Viktor turned to her, his arm not leaving Yuuri’s waist.

          “Didn’t he tell you not to go into his studio?” Viktor reprehended her, tilting his head to the side.

          _Protective._ Otabek’s thoughts turned to the room that existed going down that hall. Yuri’s studio. His heart started picking up the pace again. _Too close._ He had never been this close. The Kazakh wondered what it meant that Yuri was not ready. Was he working? Covered in paint? Did he wear those overalls that he often saw art students in? What color was it now? Because Otabek assumed – as he did, and kept doing no matter how hard he tried not to - it could not be white. Did the studio look like the rest of the place? White walls that turned to gray when there was no light.

Was it cold?

          Was it sad?

          Did it hurt to be there?

          Had it been already layered with blood and guts and become the lair of the dragon?

 

          “Mila, you know Yuuri.” Viktor continued, not acknowledging the woman’s complaint.

          “Hi.” Katsuki greeted faintly, with a palm lifted.

         She smiled wide-and-bright and Yuuri was hugged again, however briefly. She was wearing a red T-Shirt that had Hotter than Hell written across the chest, a black leather skirt and high-heels. Mila was beautiful, of course she was, but she was also radiant. Otabek remembered that Yuri had kissed a woman with red hair at the party Leo had gone to. Maybe Mila was her. And with her voice that could fill up the room, maybe she also belonged there. 

          “And this is Otabek, he’s Yuuri’s roommate.”

          Mila turned to him and offered her hand. “Otabek. That’s not American.”

          He shook her hand. “Kazakh.”

          “Oh!” she exclaimed, excitedly “Tanısqanımızğa qwanıştımın, Otabek.”

          Otabek wondered if he should also reply in his native language. When he imagined it in his head, it kind of sounded like making a move, so he didn’t.

          “Nice to meet you, too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

          They were nice people. Viktor had prepared them drinks, but Martinis weren’t strong enough to loosen up the imaginary rope wrapped around his throat. Every minute that he stayed there, it got tighter, because, eventually, Yuri would come out and every minute that went by was one less minute until that happened. What was he doing in that house? To make matters worse, apparently, Mila was also a dancer and that made three out of four, so he didn't understand a thing of what they were talking about. It was a relief when other people arrived, not longer than half an hour later. Once the first couple got there – Viktor’s parents -, they didn’t stop coming. Otabek took the opportunity to stay where he sat at the kitchen counter when the others got up to greet the guests. He was finally alone and Yuuri was trying his hardest to mingle. Things were going as he’d imagined: Yuuri was getting more comfortable and Otabek was a nervous wreck. They had had the time to talk for a bit and the Kazakh had mentioned how he wasn’t really good at socializing. He was thankful that nobody had pushed him.

           He could still listen, however and, as the people started coming, the chatting seemed to get louder. By listening, Otabek learned that Viktor had a sister named Malya and that she was Mila’s mother, which made Yuri and her related, so she couldn't be the red-head at the party. He also learned that Mila was a twin and that her sister was in some exchange program in Portugal. There were more comments about Yuuri being cute than he would’ve expected. People weren’t fazed in the slightest about how he was Viktor’s student – and they had a made a point to tease the blue-eyed man about how that was expected of him for longer than necessary. Otabek felt like he didn’t need to be there, that he had done his part by bringing Yuuri over and, also, his glass was empty and there was no way in hell he would pour himself another drink in someone else’s home.

          The fact that music wasn’t playing didn’t help him not to eavesdrop and he seemed intimidating enough that nobody had tried to make conversation with him. Yuuri did, however, go to the kitchen to find some white wine, Viktor followed him a second later to pick up a few glasses from the cabinet. Otabek was still looking at his phone, holding onto it like a lifeline. He hadn’t had enough time to finish his translation job and was looking for definitions of the words he hadn’t quite grasped. Needless to say, he wasn’t paying attention.

           “Are you okay?” Yuuri asked him as he poured the wine.

           “Mm-hm” Otabek replied without looking up.

           “Would you like a glass? A refill?” Viktor asked, hugging Yuuri from behind. Otabek could only see the arm wrapping around his friend’s wait.

           “Mm-mm”.

         What the hell did “enternecer” mean? It wasn’t “to soften” like Google Translate had said, it made no sense. To melt. To liquefy. What the hell. None of the definitions were right. Yuuri sighed. _Worried._

 “Maybe if we put on some music…” the Japanese man suggested.

          “Sure!” Viktor replied, happily “Maybe that would get little Yuri out of his cave, he hates when I put on music.”

 

          Yuri had been born on the first of March. His apartment was on the tenth floor. He had another aunt named Malya. His grandmother wanted to bring him a cake, but Yuri didn’t really celebrate his birthday – he hated the convention of it all.

           Yuri wore black winged eyeliner, kept two to three brushes in his back pocket, lived in an apartment that was visually cold. He hated when Viktor put on music. Yuri didn’t want Mila going into his studio – she was also his cousin, and he had another cousin who was in Europe on exchange.

 

          Why would they put music on if Yuri hated it, though? It was his birthday, they were already ignoring the fact that he hated that too. Why did people do that? Otabek decided to get up and find Yuuri, however terrifying that was with the crowd of fifteen people, four children and a crying toddler. They only handed the glasses to the older woman with red hair like Mila’s and the man sitting next to her who Otabek figured was her significant other. Mila had his eyes. There was a couple of elders that sat next to them, probably the grandparents. Otabek met eyes with them and their faces suddenly twisted in disapproval. _Of course._

 He kept walking towards Yuuri anyway, but Viktor picked up a remote control from the coffee table and turned the music on. _Oh, the lyrics to this song are gorgeous._

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

 **Hozier – From Eden**  

Babe, there's something tragic about you

Something so magic about you

Don't you agree?

 

             Unlike for Otabek, the martinis seemed to have been enough for Yuuri, for the Japanese man didn’t even hesitate when Viktor pulled him closer and led their bodies to a dance. They were happy.

 

Babe, there's something lonesome about you

Something so wholesome about you

Get closer to me

 

         The dancing was cut short when screamo started blasting from a different room and everyone looked and sighed in frustration, wondering "why Yuri" was like that, why did he have to " _still_ be" like that. Viktor only laughed as if he had been expecting the clear response, like they played with each other like that all the time. And, no, Otabek had never played with Yuri, they had never teased each other like this, they had never even properly met, but he wanted to laugh too. He had never thought that he would want to laugh in a place like this, but it was another surprise that Yuri showed him, another side of himself, another layer that was peeled off. Otabek could only huff and smile and shake his head because that was amazing. Yuri Plisetsky, the artist of their generation, played who’s-louder with his uncle. And he chose the loudest fucking song of 2010.

 

           “I don’t think he’ll ever leave…” Viktor lamented, as he scratched his head.

           “Maybe if you played that song here he would come out” Yuuri suggested.

           “Yeah, but I don’t know that song… My eardrums are sensitive.”

           “Um…" Otabek cleared his throat. Everyone looked at him. That sure sucked. "I know.”

          The grandpa scoffed. “Of course...”

           “Really?” Viktor’s eyes suddenly beamed and he handed Otabek his cellphone that was connected to the sound system’s Bluetooth. “Please, put it on, you’re our last resource.”

          Otabek took it. He had no idea how he had become Yuri’s uncle’s last resource to get him to attend his own birthday party.

 

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

 **Sleeping with Sirens –** **If I’m James Dean, Then You’re Audrey Hepburn**

Stay for tonight

If you want to I can show you

What dreams are made of

As I'm dreaming of your face

I've been away for a long time

Such a long time

And I miss you there

I can't imagine being anywhere else

I can't imagine being anywhere else but here

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

         There was no other way to put it other than Otabek had snatched Yuuri from his boyfriend to help him camouflage in the corner where the wall met the window pane. The Kazakh had his back to the party and Yuuri was leaning against the glass. If he were to see Yuri Plisetsky in the flesh, dead across from him, he’d have a stroke. Not really, but it wouldn’t be good. There was so much that could go wrong with people in general, so many chances of saying the wrong thing or being put in awkward situations. Specially with older people like most of the attendees. Otabek’s introversion always made his elders feel disrespected (not that they were all too appreciative of his appearance either). He took the time when the song ended to switch the Bluetooth connection to Yuuri’s phone.

        “Liubimy vnuk!”, he heard a female voice exclaim.

        _My favorite grandson._

_Yuri._

“The birthday boy!”

_Mila._

_Yuri._

“Good things do come to those who wait, I see.”

      _Viktor. Being snarky._

_Yuri is here._

“Who stopped the fucking music?!”

  Clear. Firm. Not a hint of hesitation.

      “ _Lift your head up, asshole.”_

_Yuri. Yuri is here._

“Iki wo sutte.” Katsuki’s voice pulled him out of the haze. _Breathe in._ It was right, he wasn’t breathing. Otabek focused his vision again, at his friend, and did as he was told. “Haite.”

       _Breathe out._ Yuuri signed slowly, up and down, with his hand to control the Kazakh’s breathing.

 The apartment wasn’t big enough. It had shrunk as soon as Yuri’s voice had filled it, crowded it, made Otabek feel like like he was being squashed. The back of his neck burned as though the actual sun stood behind him. Somewhere, he didn’t know how far away, but not far enough, the green-eyed beauty he’d had in his mind for years had spoken. It was a beautiful sound. So brazen and powerful; _free_ , more like a teenager’s. Different from the times he had listened to it before. Yuri really was at home.

      “Help me, what do I put here?” Yuuri asked, taking his phone from Otabek’s hand.

      Oh, yeah, he had been the one who had stopped the music.

      “Just random Arctic Monkeys?” Otabek replied, his voice steadier than he had imagined. The band had changed their sound so many times, there had to be something for everyone in the room.

        “Why do you make your grandparents wait, boy?” the grandpa asked Yuri in the distance. Otabek realized his tone of voice in Russian wasn’t that different from the scoff from before.  

        “Ya rabotal, i dyedya Nikolai pozvonil, i ya ne znal, chto vy priglasite sebya na vecherinku, kotoruyu ya ne khotel.”

_I was working, and grandpa Nicolai called, and I didn’t know that you would invite yourselves to a party I did not want._

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**Arctic Monkeys – Perhaps “Vampires” Is A Bit Strong, But…**

Well, I've seen your eyes as they fix on me  
What is he doing? What on Earth's the plan?  
Has he got one?  
You'd better give me some pointers  
Since you are the big rocket launcher  
And I'm just the shotgun

 

          Suddenly, Otabek was thirteen again. He was sitting on the couch, letting the rest of his cereal turn no mush because he couldn’t take his eyes off of the TV. He was thankful that he had learned Russian at a young age, he was thankful that he could understand every nuance in that boy’s choice of words.

        “ _It’s Yuri.”_

_“Yuri Plisetsky Dietritch.”_

_“Dad has been lying.”_

Otabek couldn’t remember every question that Yuri had been asked. He couldn’t remember the tone of voice of the defense lawyer; hell, Otabek couldn’t remember if it was a man’s or a woman’s, but he could recognize that _one_ tone from the trial, that rhythm of speaking anywhere in the world.

      _Suddenly_ , Otabek is a teenager who lived blissfully and was satisfied with a piece of metal that said that he’d done the bare minimum for his parents and Yuri is a kid who is spitting in front of a sea of adults, in live television, facts that would send his father straight to prison. And the defense regrets it, tries to object. _Denied._ Yuri speaks louder. " _Dad has a mansion in_ _Luxembourg_ ** _._** _I’ve been there."_ They try to get him off the stand, they say that he is just a child, he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Yuri speaks even louder, he stands up, his little hands turn into fists: _"He told you that he sends money to my mom, but she never got a dime! She’s even living with my grandpa in Moscow and dad doesn’t even let me visit! He’s lying, he’s lying, he’s always been lying!"_ Then his voice finally cracks and everyone goes silent. Otabek was sure that the whole of Russia had forgotten how to speak.

       Suddenly, Otabek’s medal didn’t hold any worth. That, who that kid was, that was the type of person that he wanted to be. The pin on his uniform was only prize for being good and shutting up. The only thing that that kid would get out of being brave was a locked-up dad and a dirty last name and, yet, somehow, he had won.

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**Arctic Monkeys – Perhaps “Vampires” Is A Bit Strong, But…**

Well, I ain't got no dollar signs in my eyes  
That might be a surprise but it's true  
That I'm not like you and I don't want your advice  
Or your praise or to move in the ways you do  
And I never will

 

 

           “So you answer your other grandfather’s, but not your own father’s phone calls?”

          “Yakov--“ Viktor tried to intervene

          “Damn right I don’t.” Yuri switched to English “I don’t answer phone calls from the dead.”

         The moment that he heard a woman gasp and Yuuri’s eyes widen out of their sockets, Otabek turned. Viktor was holding the old man’s wrist that was lifted up high. Yuri was looking down on him, his hands buried inside of his back pockets instead of the brushes. That man was going to hit him. Otabek wanted to scream at him, he wanted to stand in between them, he wanted to defend Yuri with every fiber of his being. But he also felt like an intruder. He shouldn’t have heard anything. He shouldn’t have seen anything. That was Yuri’s life and he wasn’t a part of it, he hadn’t been invited to it. He had as much right to be there as a man who would lift his hand to a teenager who had already been through hell on his own birthday. Otabek had already crossed every limit. He knew nothing about Yuri, but he also already knew too much.

 

              “Keep an eye on him” Otabek told Yuuri as he stepped past him “I can’t be here for this.”

              He opened the door to the balcony and closed it without waiting for a reply. He imagined that Katsuki would go to Viktor. Who would go to Yuri? Maybe his grandmother? She had sounded so excited to see him and wanted to celebrate, right? If she didn’t, Mila would, wouldn’t she? They were cousins, so— Nevermind. Being related didn’t guarantee anything. Then Viktor would. He had to, he had to be the one protecting Yuri. Viktor wouldn’t let him get hurt, _right?_ Otabek clicked his tongue, his hand going through his hair and grabbing it, pulling it in frustration. At that point, he realized what the feeling that had haunted him the entire day was. It was regret. If he had had the courage to go up to Yuri, even if just once, maybe they could, at least, be acquainted. Maybe then, if this situation arose, maybe Otabek would be able to get him out of there, to take him somewhere safe, where he didn’t have to celebrate his birthday if he didn’t want to, where forcing him out of his creative process just to be cruel to him wouldn’t be called “celebrating”. If he had said “sorry”, louder, maybe he could’ve been useful.

           His phone rang. It was Phichit. They hadn’t spoken in a few days.

          “Beks, hi!” _Cheerful._

          “Hey. How are things going there?”

          “Ah, mom’s a lot better, she even made us dinner.”

           Otabek forced a little laugh. He was happy for his friend, but he felt like he could cry. “You should be ashamed to have your sick mother make you food, you scoundrel.”

           Phichit let out a real laugh on the line. Otabek was glad that his mental state didn’t show. “She wanted to, I swear!”

           There was a second of silence. The view wasn’t as opaque as Otabek had thought. It was a beautiful night, it was a pity that it looked so blurry.

           “Beks?” Phichit asked. _Worried. “_ Is everything okay?”

           Otabek blinked. It wasn’t okay. He hadn’t cried in years.

          “Yeah, um…” he started, asking himself if he should finish, his friend had to worry about his mother already “I’m just at Viktor’s house.”

           Another pause. Shit. Otabek dried his cheeks with his arm. It was not like he was sobbing, it just… Hurt. He didn’t know how to stop it.

           “You mean Yuri Plisetsky’s house.” It wasn’t a question. “Damn, I didn’t think Yuuri would actually ask you.” _Just a comment. No ill-intention._

           “It’s alright, I was the one who convinced him to come anyway.”

          The Kazakh started walking to the edge. They were singing “Happy Birthday” in Russian. It reminded him of when his family would just sit down for dinner after tearing each other apart. He wondered if Yuri hated it as much as Otabek did, but he wouldn’t dare to turn to look.

           “And how are you holding up?”

           “What do you mean?”

           “Come on, Beks, you wouldn’t be on the phone with me for so long if Yuri were there with you.”

           “It’s his birthday, why would he be with me?”

           “Why wouldn’t he? You’re the catch of the West Coast.”

          Otabek rested his free arm on the glass fence. Ten stories was the highest he had experienced since moving to California.

          “I’m literally hiding in the balcony, Peach.”

          “I~I’ve got troubled thoughts and the self-steem to match, what a caa~atch, what a caa~tch.” the Thai sang an off-tune version of Fall Out Boy’s "What A Catch, Donnie". Otabek laughed, just a little, but for real. “Go out there, dude. You are doing so good just by being there, Beks, I’m like a proud dad, but don’t waste the opportunity or you’ll regret it. It’s been, what, eight years that you’ve had this on stand-by? Come on. That’s probably, like, half of Yuri’s age!”

          “Plus three.”

          “Mm?”

          “He’s nineteen today. I saw the cake.”

          “Fuck yeah, that’s more than legal in most countries!”

          “Sometimes you don’t make an ounce of sense, do you know that?”

          “But I did before, right?”

          He stopped to think for a second. It wasn’t as simple as “going out there”; Otabek was already having a mild panic attack. But it was true that he would regret. He already had.

          “Yeah. Sometimes, somehow, you make a tiny bit of sense.”

          Otabek led the phone away from his ear when Phichit celebrated like he had won a prize draw. He understood why his friend's mother would want to make him dinner, even though she was sick.

           “All-right! Go get ‘em, tiger! Or get the tiger, I don’t know, just go get him.”

           Otabek huffed. “No promises.”

           When they hung up, Otabek let his arms drop over the fence. He looked down. It was so high, the fountain even looked a normal size from there. He wondered what a day he had had. How had he gotten there. The turmoil of emotions that turned his insides into knots. How heavy it was for him to just _be,_ how heavy it must be for Yuri. Why would anybody want to hurt him? Otabek knew that he never could. He knew for a fact that, no matter how messed up the chemicals in his brain were, he would never so much as touch Yuri’s hair with ill-intention. Yuri deserved so much. He was worth so much.

            

            “Fucking same.”

             Otabek would never mistake that voice. Yuri was right there, behind him, he could feel it – closer than ever before. The door hadn’t been opened, had it? How long had he been there? The Kazakh couldn’t not acknowledge his presence, so he turned his head. It was like he could feel his thoughts slowly untying themselves. It was different seeing him from this distance. It was different seeing him looking Straight into his eyes. It was different to see him unarmed. But he was just as breath-taking as he’d always been, if not more. He had his blonde hair tied in a half pony-tail, strands framing each side of his face. He was wearing a loose long-sleeve fishnet shirt that left little to the imagination and Otabek made himself not look because, if he had seen it right, Yuri had a nipple piercing and that would be the death of him. And, also, he wasn’t allowed to look, so he wouldn’t.

           “Mm?” Otabek managed to ask, turning back again to the view, but still seeing Yuri in his mind. Fuck, he was beautiful. With the side of his eye, he saw the blonde lean his back against the fence, elbows rested on it. Otabek could see the length of his eyelashes, the thin silver line on top of Yuri’s regular black cat-eye, the natural blush of his cheeks, the intense pink of his lips. A masterpiece.

          “You looked like you wanted to jump off” Yuri said as he turned his face to the Kazakh and offered him a smirk and an eye-brow raise that was unfair for a heart that wasn’t ready. He turned his glance to the living room again. “Same.”

          “Why?” Otabek replied, turning his body to observe whatever it was that Yuri was observing. They were in the same position.

          By the way that Yuri stared at the glass so defiantly, Otabek knew.

          “I'd rather swan-dive into that ridiculous water fountain than have one more goddamn person ask me for a free portrait.” The blonde said and threw his head back, exposing the veins of his neck and sharpness of his jawline. His hair flowed easily with gravity and the wind. Yuri groaned. “I hate birthdays; Viktor’s a fucking asshole.”

          So Yuri wasn’t really a private guy.

         “I think he’s nice.” Otabek said, only to see the blonde’s reaction.

        _Worth it._ Yuri yanked his head up and they were closer than they’d ever been again. They just kept crossing lines. And Yuri glared at him, green eyes piercing through the brown of Otabek’s, cutting every remaining shred of rational thinking. He had never thought that he would actually be able to see that Yuri’s green was a color palette in and of itself. His pupil was surrounded by an earthy caramel that merged with the brightest of greens and created a darker green shade it between and the outline of his iris was pool blue.

"Who the fuck are you, by the way?” and Yuri was defying him, chin up, feline eyes. It made Otabek show him a smirk too. He wasn’t one to turn down a challenge.

         He noticed some kind of black stick that looked like a crayon tucked behind the blonde’s right ear. Otabek slightly pointed at his own left ear to ask the blonde what it was. For a second, Yuri seemed to have forgotten that it was there.

“This?” Yuri took it between his fingers. “It’s charcoal.”

         The Kazakh offered his hand as a way of asking to hold it. He was talking to Yuri Plisetsky. He was at Yuri Plisetsky’s house. Where Yuri Plistesky’s studio was. Yuri Plisetsky’s tools were close enough to touch, and so was _him_. How tempting it was to touch him.

         Yuri almost gave it to the man, but quickly took it back and hid it behind his back. Otabek wanted to follow Yuri’s hand, but, _Jesus Christ, it really was a nipple piercing._

          “Your name.” Yuri demanded, a serious look on his face that made him look like he had been hand-painted. “I’m not gonna let some trespasser touch my tools.”

        The Kazakh turned a little so Yuri wouldn’t see him smiling. Yuri Plisetsky, asking for his name. _Wow_. Not even in his wildest dreams.

        Otabek stood up straight, he knew that they were close in height, but the Kazakh was still a bit taller. Not enough that Yuri would have to look up, though.

         “At the same time, then.” Otabek said, his expression as neutral as ever.

         “Huh?” The blonde complained, thin lines forming between his brows.

         “You don’t trust me, why should I trust you?” He challenged.

         Yuri smiled, not for him, just at him and Otabek hoped that he would have a vivid memory of that moment for a long, long time. The blonde looked to the side for a second before turning back to face the older man. “Don’t you think you’re getting too carried away?”

         _I sure do._ Otabek shrugged. “You started it.”

        The blonde stared at him for a second longer and the Kazakh wished that he would’ve taken even longer before sighing.

         “Fine.”

         Yuri placed his palm in the middle of them and a sort of tenderness found its way into Otabek’s chest when he saw that there was still splattered paint on Yuri’s palm, the colors were still green and purple, but there were hints of yellow here and there. “Enternecer” – “to soften”. So that was what it meant. To make one more sensitive, to touch one’s heart. Looking at that teenager’s long fingers, ones he had only seen turning into fists as a little child, painted in the colors of his own art... it softened him. Made him calmer. So he reached for the charcoal with his left hand, and before Yuri could complain that he hadn’t kept his promise, Otabek took the boy’s in his right and held it gently, shaking it once, and twice. Otabek loved the texture of the paint scratching his own palm.

           “Name’s Otabek Altin, Sophomore, Music. A fan.”

           “I usually don’t shake fans’ hands.” Yuri replied, but didn’t let go either.

           “I usually don’t come to birthday parties uninvited.”

           “I usually don’t _have_ birthday parties.”

          

           Yuri Plisetsky wore winged eyeliner. He lived with his uncle and had a home studio. Wasn't a private guy.

           Yuri listened to screamo and his eyes were the shades of an island. He also didn’t usually have birthday parties or shook his fans’ hands.

           He had a – _mind-blowing_ – nipple piercing and a grandfather named Nikolai. His father was dead to him and he thought Viktor was an asshole.

           Yuri had the most precious smile Otabek had ever seen. And, for the way that the silver line on his lids sparkled in the night, every light had turned into him. He was the sun and also the stars.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you guys but, for me, this meeting took a lifetime to get here LOL  
> Next chapter will probably take more than a couple of days, but this is the most consistent I have ever been with posting, so no worries there. :)


	5. 哀悼 (regret)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I've been working hard irl, but I guess I'll have the sanity to start working on this again as well.  
> Let's give them a lot of love and comfort until the next month

 

 

 

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

 **Arctic Monkeys  – Crying Lightning**  

The next time that I caught my own reflection it was on its way to meet you

Thinking of excuses to postpone

You never looked like yourself from the side

But your profile could not hide

The fact you knew I was approaching your throne

With folded arms, you occupied the bench like toothache

Stood and puffed your chest out like you'd never lost a war

And though I tried so not to suffer the indignity of a reaction

There was no cracks to grasp or gaps to claw

 

 

       “Baba, I swear if one of your beasts lifts my cat, I’ll kick all your sorry asses to Toluca!” Yuri screamed out as he barged back inside after seeing one of the kids playing with what Otabek found out was Yuri’s cat and what he also figured had been trapped in the studio with him the whole time he had been there. The Kazakh saw the blonde stop and turn to him, gesturing for him to follow. He hesitated, he _did_ , but it was worthless to fight – he’d been wanting to follow Yuri for a long time.

         Yuri wasn’t as unfriendly as he acted. The green-eyed beauty roared and threatened to bite your hand off if you came close, but seemed like keeping you close was what he wanted, if on his own terms. There was still a lot to wonder about Yuri Plisetsky. Why was his grandfather so aggressive towards him; why most of the relatives that were present looked frustrated, almost tired of him – and how could _anyone_ get tired of him. Most importantly, how did this affect the teen? _Vanity_ made so much more sense now. Looking back, maybe on the night that Otabek had seen the blonde scrape the paint off, maybe, just maybe, that had been, in truth, the closest they had ever been. The Kazakh would think further into suppositions later. He wanted to experience being around Yuri as grounded as possible, as in-the-moment as he possibly could. So they were both inside and Otabek looked, but couldn’t find the grandparents anywhere nor about half of the people. Mila’s parents were still there and the Kazakh found out that the kids that were hanging around the birthday-boy’s cat were her siblings. The red-head was on her knees next to them.

        “You heard that, right?” she asked, in a softer, motherly tone and continued as if she was telling them a story “Yurotchka is a green-eyed monster who loves cats and cats only and _ha~ates_ children.”

        The Kazakh glanced at the blonde, who had already sat down and was lifting the cat and making angry faces at it, competing to see who gave the most powerful glare. The image of the blonde pouting at the pet was probably the cutest, most improbable thing Otabek had ever witnessed. He couldn’t be bothered to give Mila and the kids a second look. The Kazakh felt Katsuki’s supportive hand on his shoulder. He wondered if they’d been seen on the balcony.

        “That’s not true,” Viktor intruded, caressing the little girl’s light-brown hair “Yurotchka is just over-protective and emotionally reliant on sweet Potya.”

        “Says you, old man”, Yuri replied “Let’s see what you do when these monsters try to turn your boyfriend into bacon.”

 

        So Katsuki hadn’t been exaggerating every time he told Otabek short tales about the painter – he indeed wasn’t fond of the Japanese man at all. Where did it come from? Maybe it was hard to adjust to the new situation of his uncle, something like having a parent taken away? The thought made Otabek’s heart clench. Yuri had already had one parent taken away. He wondered where Yuri’s mom was. She was known in his home country for being a famous model in her teens and early twenties, but had since fallen from grace. Otabek couldn’t pin out when exactly – he wasn’t one to pay attention to tabloids, especially as a kid.

          Yuuri hid his face on Otabek’s shoulder from behind, suddenly drained out of energy. From what he had told the Kazakh, these types of remarks were pretty common.

         “Hold on”, the blonde said too emphatically, putting the cat down and looking at Otabek. He still wasn’t used to that. “You’re friends with _him?”_

         If it had been anybody else, Otabek wouldn’t have been too pleased with that tone. He would’ve been tempted to correct: “ _Best_ friends”, if it weren’t so cheesy. He didn’t mind it from Yuri, since it sounded more like a want to push buttons than to actually offend. Katsuki also knew it, so Otabek just nodded in response. The little huff of air that escaped Yuri’s open mouth intended some kind of ridiculing, but it wasn’t successful. Yuri wasn’t as insolent as he wanted to be and should probably work on his acting. It only made the Kazakh more curious to know why. What was it about Yuuri that bothered him (because Otabek wasn’t going to just accept his unfounded theory as fact). There was something else that flashed in Yuri’s eyes after. As Yuuri switched to Viktor’s shoulder, the blonde didn’t give it a second glance before getting up. He looked like the Yuri from campus then, turning his eyes into tinted windows. The blonde walked away as if nobody else was in the room.

         Otabek allowed his head to turn and follow the question mark that disappeared into the hall. He could hear Viktor and Katsuki talking. He could hear Mila gathering the children as her mother rushed them to go home. He wondered why nobody else was looking as Yuri walked away. Shouldn’t someone ask where was he going or simply acknowledge the way that he had left? Shouldn’t someone go after him, ask him if something had happened – even if only to leave him be after? Also… how were people leaving without saying goodbye to him? What did their gifts mean if they weren’t even wishing him a good night?

        Otabek wanted to.

        And he knew that going there had only raised more questions about the brave blonde boy from TV, but he also cherished it. The small glance he had been granted into Yuri’s life. It was true that he was screwed, it had solved nothing, he would still be wondering about him everyday and, to make matters worse, he was crazy worried about him, but… what a moment, to have been that close. For a second, when Yuuri called him to leave, Otabek pondered. It was wrong to just leave. He rushed himself to think of something, anything that would be subtle enough not to let Viktor notice his _colossal_ crush when he saw that the charcoal was still in his hand. _Yes. Fuck._

“I have to give this back to Yuri, though” Otabek said.

     “Oh!” Viktor exclaimed “Don’t worry, I’ll give it to him”

     “Let Kin do it” Katsuki interrupted as Otabek was about to give up and just leave it with the uncle “Didn’t you want Yuri to make new friends?”

      _Thank you. Thank you!_ Otabek was almost screaming his thanks in his mind. He watched  Viktor contemplate his options for a second, but he caved. Yuri must’ve put the fear of God into him.

      “First door to your right. I do not vouch for your safety.”

      It was dangerous to be there exactly because of this. This greed. Yuri had given him the narrowest of openings and Otabek was already using it to barge in. What was so interesting about being in love if it would make him crazier than this? But Katsuki gave him an encouraging pat on the arm and he did go and he did knock on the door – somewhat relunctantly. There was music behind the door and it wasn’t a desperate sound. It was a tired, done, hopeless tone over strange, bizarre synths that could only be heard from that distance.

 

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

Don't you think we'll be better off 

Without temptation to regress, to fake tenderness

Waiting to see someone we won't know for long

In cities we'll only leave?

 

 

        Yuri told whoever was at the door to fuck off.

        At the sound muffled by the barrier, Otabek got the urge to open it, however, quickly wondered if his borderline was breaking loose. He decided not to knock again. He decided the whole idea was bonkers anyway. It took him a while to move from where he stood, though. There was a “Go Away” sign in silver and red that should have spared the blonde’s words. Then again, it was proving harder by the second to get a grasp of who Yuri was. The bold sense of fashion, the uneven hair, the unwavering eyes – the way that he walked confidently at university and hissed at whatever crossed his way, but locked himself inside of a room when at his own house. And the music genre from earlier that had switched completely when he entered the studio, when the volume was low enough that only the person at the door could listen. Otabek stood there for a second more and opened his notes. He needed to get a full verse of the lyrics to find the song when he got home.

 

 

Don't you think we'll be better off

Without the pressure to address

A room of faces

Waiting to hear some strange women speak in tongues

On lonely Fridays of my loveless drunk baby

Loveless drunk baby

 

    How to go? How to detach himself? He wasn’t going to invade Yuri’s space, but what should he do not he have him invade his without even meaning to? How to go on with his night, how to finish Luan’s job, how not to lie awake at night wondering? Otabek had never been interested in a person other than Yuri. He had covered insomniac nights with music sheets and shut off anxious thoughts with foreign words – he had never dealt with something that meant more to him than letters and notes. How not to let getting carried away push him back into a hole of self-doubt? He was already worried about letting himself take anything that had happened that night as some sort of cue…

      Otabek walked away.

 

      “I guess I’ll just find him tomorrow” he said, as he met Yuuri, being pinned against the front door by the professor.

      Would he, though? He should avoid contact altogether. Why wasn’t he just leaving the stupid piece of charcoal where it belonged? Why did it feel warm where his palm was turning black, like the stained streak of blonde hair behind Yuri’s ear? Everyone else had left already. Viktor and Yuuri quickly got themselves ready to go too. The blue-eyed man offered to give them a ride home. Otabek contemplated going separately, but it would be too suspicious and he didn’t want to answer any questions, so they got into the Russian man’s car. Yuuri sat on the front and they started talking about the next day’s rehearsal. Katsuki had been practicing hard for the Spring Festival. There would be important names in the audience and Viktor was telling stories about past encounters with such names and why they were important. It wasn’t good for Yuuri’s mental health to think about it in that aspect. He was performing Lee Taemin’s Flame of Love because the singer-slash-dancer was an inspiration to him and the whole choreography had been put together to reminisce Japan in the eyes of a foreigner, with the beauty, the tradition and the mystery – things the Japanese man had started acknowledging after leaving. Katsuki wasn’t doing it for the fame or for the critics, he just loved to dance and he loved Viktor Nikiforov, so when he got an invitation from the man himself to audition for a scholarship program, he went. But Yuuri would’ve been just fine with the olsen and his Psychology degree.

        It was noticeable, however, that Viktor saw more in Yuuri. More than even Otabek did. When Otabek wanted to make Yuuri comfortable, Viktor wanted to push him out of his comfort zone. And, as long as it was done with care, it was probably for the best. Katsuki wasn’t the same guy from Craigslist anymore and it was clear that he still adored the professor, so Otabek figured it wasn’t his place to meddle. If his friend were to have a panic attack before the performance, he would be there for moral support. And after as well. All that he could do was be there.

         He felt that his priorities had been twisted greatly when he couldn’t focus on the conversation about the festival and started getting bothered about all of them leaving and Yuri being alone. It was itching at him. Something told him that the teen wasn’t okay and he couldn’t be convinced otherwise. Why did people keep leaving him? Was it right that Viktor would just drive off to take his new boyfriend home when Yuri was his family and it was his birthday—

        

         _Oh._

So it was more than jealousy. He felt abandoned. Otabek could see why he would. Maybe he felt as though he had no one, maybe his art was all there was. Not this country, not the family, not the man driving, not the house he lived in – art was the only thing that was truly his. So he sheltered in it, fed on it, lived off of it. He trusted it wouldn’t leave.

 

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**Daughter – To Belong**

I don’t want to belong, I don’t want to belong

I don’t want to belong, to you, to anyone

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

      He didn’t see Yuri for a week after that.

     

      Otabek had gone to school the day after, taken what he would supposedly return, but couldn’t find the blonde anywhere. He did try as hard as going to the Art building and saw a huge poster about an exhibition in New York with Yuri’s face as the prodigy of the Art Institute of California. It informed Otabek that the showing was on the following Saturday, so maybe Yuri was busy preparing for it or had already gone. His collection was called “Smoke Out”. To see him splattered proudly at the main hall made the Kazakh feel somewhat satisfied. It was okay that he wouldn’t see Yuri. Yuri wasn’t meant to be seen by him personally. He was much more than a fellow student that Otabek could just find on campus at his will.

     He was suddenly excited, though. He’d spend the rest of the day working on his paper and he would slave away the entire weekend subtitling a documentary series for a Kazakhstani broadcasting company. The only break that he would take would be to watch as Yuri revealed his work. How would he reveal it this time? He’d already done black lights and literal scraping, so what would the show be like? Otabek got home that Friday and got the theory over with on his thesis. He wrote about Joe Forgas’ study on the benefits of negative moods, Modupe Akinola’s paper "The Dark Side of Creativity: Biological Vulnerability and Negative Emotions Lead to Greater Artistic Creativity.", touching on Nancy Andreasen, Kay Redfield Jamison and Robert Lowell and their efforts to prove and explain the correlation between sadness and creative expression.

        Everything was eloquent and, to someone who was no stranger to mental illness, quite obvious, but also so fucking enabling. Showing someone like him a rational reason to appreciate being sick was all that he needed to finally let go of the tree branch on the cliff and just drop. As if it was stil not convenient enough, he got a call from Dahlia on Friday night. She said that she was planning on visiting during Spring Break and it would’ve been great if she hadn’t told him that everyone else was planning on going as well. Why? Why the hell did it have to be there? It was his niece’s birthday and they were going to take her to Disneyland but why the fuck couldn’t they just go to Orlando?! So Friday sucked and took March in its entirety with it. Needless to say, he went to sleep feeling drained and the plans to work harder on Saturday didn’t seem likely to happen.

 

      In the morning, Phichit knocked on Otabek’s door until he woke up and, seemingly knowing when the Kazakh’s eyes opened, the Thai man got inside. He looked like he had just gotten out of the shower, towel still around his neck from drying his hair, wetting the navy T-shirt under it. Otabek wasn’t sleepy, surprisingly. But it was Saturday and Saturday was an important day. The exhibit would be at six in New York, which meant that he had to find the link to a livestream before three P.M. Phichit began slapping Otabek’s sheen lightly.

       “Breakfast’s ready, sleepy-head, come on” He had told them multiple times he didn’t like to eat as soon as he woke up. “We’ll wait until you’re hungry, let’s just sit down with Yuuri, okay? He’s not doing so good.”

        “Mm?” Otabek asked, surprised, as he adjusted to sit up with his elbows.

        Phichit pressed his lips together and shook his head a little. “Something with the professor” He turned as walked away, going back to drying his hair “We’re waiting!”

       His body was somewhat reluctant to get up, but Otabek rubbed his eyes and got out of bed, throwing a shirt on and not bothering to arrange his hair. Yuuri was sitting in front of Leo and Phichit in the kitchen counter. They said their good-mornings to him, but, to be honest, as much as Otabek knew he had to be worried and paying attention, he really wasn’t. It was one of those days, the bad ones. He didn’t know if he was really a person then. If they asked him to eat, even if he didn’t want to, he probably would. He wasn’t quite in control of his own body. Gladly, the friends he lived with were familiar with his ways and didn’t push him. Otabek sat beside Yuuri, who poured him some coffee. It smelled amazing. Coffee did wonders indeed. The guys continued talking.

       “But when was that, Yuuri? It’s only ten.” Phichit inquired.

       Katsuki sighed. “Last night.”

       “Oh. So you technically would’ve had the time to go.”

       The sigh again. He sounded tired. “Yeah…”

        “What are you guys talking about?” Otabek asked, not looking at any of them. The smoke dancing above his mug reminded him of a song Dahlia used to describe one of her girlfriends

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**A Thousand Horses  – Smoke**

She'll go floating around like a downtown ballroom gypsy

She goes great with ice cold beer or a shot of whiskey

 

 

The southern tune kept playing in his head. Otabek wished he could pay attention to Yuuri.

        “The professor invited me to go on a trip with him, to New York”, the Japanese replied, robotically, before sipping his coffee.

        “Uh-uh” Leo countered “His boyfriend bought them plane tickets to go to New York and Yuri said ‘no, no, teach, let’s not’”

        “Dude, it wasn’t like that—“ Phichit tried to argue, but gave up “Yeah, sort of.”

        “We’re not dating!”

        “Yuuri, you need to tell him that, then, ‘cause I don’t think he’s aware.”

      It was tangible how long Phichit had known the Japanese man in the easy manner in which he spoke. They had met when Yuuri first moved to Detroit and joined the same dance academy. They were part of the same dance group after that. When Yuuri first moved in with Otabek, Phichit had gotten offended, but Katsuki didn’t want to bother him out of the dorms. Phichit also moved to Los Angeles soon after to pursue his career as a dancer and was doing great in the industry, even being able to bring his mother and younger siblings to California as well.

         “I did” Yuuri said, his voice becoming stern

        Otabek turned to him. Leo’s eyes widened. Phichit let out a small gasp. All at the same time.

         “He- He cried”, the Japanese man continued with hands over his eyes “I had never seen him cry…”

         “Oh, Yuuri…” Phichit sighed, rubbing his friend’s arm to comfort him.

         “I didn’t know that I could even—“, Yuuri gasped loudly. He was crying. “Make him cry like that.”

 

        The three of them crossed glances at each other, not knowing what to do or what to say. Otabek instantly recognized the guilt that engulfed Yuuri’s voice. It had visited him a few times in his lifetime, too. He had never known how to get rid of it other than by killing a part of himself. There was no way that it was the answer for Katsuki’s problem. Yuuri was fine the way that he was.

        “Viktor loves you.” The Kazakh blurted out. It only made Yuuri cry harder. Otabek pressed his lips together and made himself continue, Leo and Phichit waiting for him attentively, which made him feel watched, so he switched to Japanese. “He saw you and he loved you. He has been in love with you this whole time.”

        “How could he—“

        “You know he is, Yuuri.” Otabek needed to force himself to be so blunt, but felt like he had the duty to not let his friend break something that was making him happy. “You hurt him because you were afraid of disappointing him. He cried because he’s been holding off crying for more than a year.”

       The Japanese man crossed him arms on the counter and buried his head on them. Otabek took the time to signal for the other guys to leave. They looked worried, but did what they were asked. Otabek adjusted himself on his seat, staring at the window in the living room. People suffered so much. How could anyone live blissfully when there was so much pain everywhere?

       “You and I are so alike.” The Kazakh told him. “We may express it differently, but we’re always so scared of the effect we can cause on other people.” He remembered that night, on the balcony, a blonde Russian teenager by his side. He            cuckled. “We’re always missing out.”

     Yuuri mumbled something muffled in agreement. It made Otabek smile. Yuuri was red to his ears and his sobs were interrupted by hiccups, like a little kid. The Kazakh ruffled his friend’s hair.

       “Yuuri, you’re good for him.”

      Yuuri mumbled something muffled in disagreement. Otabek pinched his cheek.

      “You are!”

       “Kin-kun, yamete!” Yuuri whined, lifting his head up. He was pouting as he looked at Otabek with teary eyes.

       “So what happened?” The Kazakh figured he would have to know more to stop arrogantly stating things.

       The Japanese man suddenly got up, rubbing his nose as though he’d just sneezed, quickly turning the tap water on to wash his face. Otabek’s eyes followed him calmly, then turned back to staring ahead, drinking coffee that was getting cold. He should re-heat it.

       “Yuri was out of town, so he made me dinner at his apartment last night.” Yuri. _Distracted. Again._ “It was already awkward enough to be there alone, but then he says he wanted to surprise me with plane tickets to New York for Yuri’s showing and the ballet.” With the side of his eye, he saw Yuuri lean against the fridge and close his eyes “Kin, can you guess how much money that costs? And where would I sleep, you know? In a double with Viktor Nikiforov? What would the press say with me there at the exhibit, huh? Even worse, what would Yuri say?! He’d jump-kick me out of there for sure, so I…”

         “You got scared.”

         Yuuri replied “Yes” and simultaneously dragged his back down the refrigerator and sat on the floor.

          “I told him I couldn’t accept it, then he insisted and I just blurted out that we should stop whatever it was that we were doing.” _Regretful._

          “But that’s not what you want.”

          “Damn it, no, not at all. I…”

          Otabek huffed. “You love him.”

           “I do.” He sounded defeated. Otabek understood that too. Thinking all that you could do about love was acknowledge it.

          The Kazakh got up, deciding to make more coffee.

           “Give him a call.” He said and didn’t give Yuuri the chance to yell that he was crazy “Viktor needs to focus on Yuri today, but tomorrow, get wasted and tell him what you told me. He’ll cave if you call him by his name.”

          The song Yuri Plisetsky was listening to that night was called To Belong. It hadn't left Otabek's head since he had found it. A verse echoed in his mind - he would never tell Katsuki that that was the one their conversation reminded him of. It was just a similarity. Something that was almost funny to feel, that both of them felt, that maybe Viktor was trying not to let reach him, that Yuri was locking up inside of his studio:

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**Daughter  – To Belong**

Don't you think you'll be better off

Without me tied around your neck?

 

* * *

 


	6. Smoke Out: to provide someone with Marijuana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a long one because I had to take advantage of the weekend. Hope you enjoy it <3

 

* * *

 

 

    Leo had found out on Instagram that Yuri’s showing would be broadcasted at the university’s theater – he also told Otabek that “Smoke out” was a stoner expression that Yuri probably used as a joke. The American man said that he knew enough people to sneak them inside, so Otabek went. He hardly ever visited campus on weekends. It proved to be quite convenient to have a friend who’d slept with an eighth of the student body. The seats were already all taken by the time they arrived. Good. Everyone should be there to see whatever it was that Yuri had prepared. There was buzz that the piece was supposed to be a one-time-only experience like Vanity, so it was important to witness its full glory in real-time. Leo easily mingled, leaning forward from the back of the seats of women of whom Otabek couldn’t see the faces with the lights being so low. He just scanned the whole room. It was crowded, it was still loud. Mostly females, he gathered, given the dominant pitch of the chatter. The screen in front of the audience wasn’t large enough. Otabek wished that it could be like a movie theater’s, but it was better than watching on his computer or cellphone. The Kazakh didn’t bother to find a seat. He stood quietly where his back reached the wall. It was still three minutes to three. How was Yuri feeling? Did he get nervous? The blonde never looked like it. Otabek felt something different than butterflies. It was like little ladybugs pacing around his uncolored heart, unaware of the smoke that dusted their wings. There was a soft tickle in his chest, like when he found a song that was amazing from the very first second, an introverted excitement, one that was easy to hide. Did Yuri feel something of that sort? It was such an enigma that Otabek couldn’t even come up with suppositions. What did Yuri feel?

       It was amazing, Otabek didn’t even know Yuri’s real name. He hadn’t used his Russian name even during the trial. Had he been born somewhere else? He still used his mother’s “Plisetsky”, but only signed his paitings with “Yuri.” There was always a period after the I. Questions such as those should be easy to find out, but Wikipedia painted Yuri as the ruined-turned-brilliant son of a criminal, nephew of a legend. The blonde was big on Instagram, but Otabek had quit social media very early as a way of clearing his mind and never gone back to it since. He found it somewhat triggering and greatly unnecessary. However, it wasn’t like his friends didn’t show him all of Yuri’s updates. The last photo the blonde had posted was of a fireplace. Considering its angle, it looked like Yuri had taken it while laying down on the floor in front of it. It was lonely. It was peaceful. Sorrowful. In a New York hotel room. A day before Viktor left California. _To smoke out, huh?_ Otabek wondered what it meant to Yuri, other than sharing weed.

         Some of the attendees started clapping. There was an older woman making her way to the front. A spotlight shone on her. She introduced herself as the professor of Fine Arts. She had long, thin gray hair parted in half. Maybe she reminded Otabek of a character he had seen in some movie. He wasn’t interested at first, but she told them that she had had the pleasure of working close to Yuri for his concepts.

          “We absolutely could let Yuri Plisetsky’s art speak for itself, that isn’t why I’m here in front of all of you. I came to ask you to pay close attention because, at first, I didn’t. I wanted him to do ceramics, and he wouldn’t. He was too outrageous for it. I told him ‘Let’s work with glass, then? You’ll be playing with fire’ and he said that it wasn’t close enough to the actual flame. And too impractical to break because he wanted this piece to never be seen again.” The entire room listened silently “I wondered ‘Why?’ Why would an artist work as hard as he does on a piece only to destroy it. And I, at my age, got to look at art through a completely different spectrum. Because Yuri told me, at eighteen, that beautiful things were only beautiful because they were gone in the blink of an eye. They didn’t allow the viewer to get used to them, to tire of them. I was shocked and then the kid got all smug and told me with a little slap on the arm ‘Don’t worry, we have _phones_ now. Those little things that make calls and, like, _film_ stuff, can you believe it?’” She let out an incredulous laugh. A few of the people watching also did. Otabek smiled. “So, yeah. There are cameras now. You’ll never be able to watch this unfold in person, but you will be able to find the video online. Please don’t. Pay attention and let this be beautiful forever.”

         She moved out of the way of the screen. The ladybugs turned into beetles. He was proud of a boy he didn’t know and he was thankful to a professor who  _did_ know him. He was happy that there were people who would stand in front of a theater to praise Yuri. He was glad, so very glad that those people existed. The room got dark again for a second before the streaming started. It was _vivid_ , thank God. There was a presenter introducing the blonde’s supposed life story, blatantly pulled out of that shady Wikipedia page, at least, leaving out the unnecessary bits about his father. Yuri Plisetsky was a university student in California. He had started drawing at six, painting at thirteen. His first exhibit had been a year prior. A scandalous work of seemingly bodily fluids such as blood and semen on political figures’ faces that only appeared on black light that had almost gotten him sued and expelled, if it hadn’t happened in an underground pub in downtown L.A for independent artists. What was this one going to be? The projection that appeared on Otabek’s head was himself turning into ash or disappearing like a magic number. The camera turned to Viktor, proudly boasting about Yuri, although he looked like he hadn’t slept and his voice was deeper than usual. What had happened between him and Katsuki had taken a toll on the professor, he concluded. It was then when Leo came to stand next to the Kazakh, he had probably noticed the same thing.

       “Poor guy” Leo pitied.

       And he was. He was hurting. It had nothing to do with blaming Yuuri. It just sucked that people had to hurt. Viktor cut the interview short, which was concerning since he seemed to enjoy talking.

       “Do you think Yuuri is watching this?” The American man asked.

       “I don’t think so.”

      Katsuki was probably curled up under a blanket, with his phone turned off. They would be going home as soon as Yuri’s part was over to check on him. Phichit had promised he wouldn’t go out anyway.

    The beetles’ buzz reached Otabek’s ears. The camera followed Yuri Plisetsky. He was wearing a white blazer with a V line that reached his abs, no undershirt and loose matching pants. Both of his hands in the blazer’s low pockets. His blonde hair was tucked behind his ears, yellow sunglasses on his head like a golden crown. From the profile, they could see the eyeliner. There were loud comments about how hot he looked and Leo’s elbow was making Otabek’s ribs bruise, but he did look outstandingly amazing. It was his show. On his way, he got a lighter out of his pocket. It was a Chanel matte black lighter. He kept lighting it and letting the flame die until he reached the wall at the end of the hall. Yuri crouched under a big black board with the profile silhouette of a mannequin painted in holographic colors, posing like someone that was holding somebody else’s cheek, but there was nobody there. No other mannequin. The beetles turned in into wasps. They were impacient, locked within Otabek, no way to find freedom. There was tension in the whole room. Yuri got a pack out of his other pocket, posing there coolly like the cover of a 90’s glam rock album, a matching Chanel black cigarette finding his lips. There were cameras pointing at him, flashing lights and he looked like he was in a different corner of the world. He lit it. Placed the pack back inside his pocket. Got two of his fingers around and blew out the smoke. It got the focus on his face. On his lips. Not on the lighter that had found a wick, and it was a sudden flare when the figure that the holo mannequin was holding burned and there was gasps of shock in the theater, surprised screams in the recording, a force that wouldn’t allow Otabek’s eyes to move a millimeter away from where that silhouette burned. And he realized that it would be over soon, that that embrace would be over in a matter of seconds but it was such an experience, he could almost _feel_ the warmth of the flames as if he was there. The reflection of the flames on the paint. He had sculpted that figure out of black powder. And it burned for a while, it did. And it looked like people in love, holding each other. But it also melted the hand that was on its face and when the fire smoked out, the only thing that was left was a lonely, formerly holo, armless figure that had turned black.

       “Jesus fuck.” He heard Leo comment in awe.

       When the burning was over, Yuri got up. He willingly walked to the presenter. The man told him how impressed everyone was, and how he thought for a second that it was a safety hazard. Yuri smirked. He was asked what was the message that he wanted to get across.

       “I want you to remember whatever motherfucker did this to you.”

 

      The scorpions that had found themselves in Otabek’s chest felt it clench. Thought that it was dangerous, so they stung it. Each of them. Who had done this to him? Yuri wasn’t… He couldn’t have been stained with smoke. He still shone so brightly. What motherfucker had done this to him? Yuri had red eyeshadow under his eyes and it looked like he’d been crying. The gold of his hair, the red of the shadow, the green of his eyes, the blue that Otabek had found looking closely into them, the forest fire. Could he go to it? Could he burn in it? Could himself turn into flames and spread with it? He wanted it. Those flames. It was a scary thought in theory, but he wasn’t afraid. Each day that passed, he became less and less afraid of embracing a man on fire who was entirely oblivious of it. It was unfair to whoever came after Yuri in that exhibit that he had been the opening act. The bar had been set too high.

        Leo and Otabek gladly left, with beetles still buzzing in their chest. Otabek didn’t know much about being in love, but he knew about being amazed.

 

 

       

* * *

 

 

       Otabek struggled to get work done. After their return home, he did sit down to start translating, but he couldn’t settle on his seat. A part of him was still hyped about the exhibition, another was worried about Yuri. And he couldn’t, for the life of him, focus on anything else. It made him feel stupid, in a sense, only having met the teen once and with him being states away from him at that moment. It was so irrational to be uneasy when there was absolutely nothing that he could do. Whatever it was that made Yuri suffer, it wouldn’t be fixed like magic if he walked into his life. But he knew, as someone who also created art out of pain, that that had to have been excruciating. He decided to go downstairs and get a drink, just a beer, just a placebo effect sort of thing. He knew he wouldn’t be returning to his bedroom when he found Yuuri, Leo and Phichit already drinking on the living room floor. They greeted the Kazakh loudly, asking him to join them. He would because _screw it_.

       So he picked up four Blue Moons from the fridge and fooled himself by thinking that he would take one and give the rest to his friends, which didn’t happen. They already had a bunch of booze laying around and Yuuri was already half crying by the time he sat down in the little square of broken hearts in front of the couch.

        “I can’t believe I didn’t get that gig.” Phichit sulked, with his eyes closed.

        “You didn’t?!” Leo exclaimed. _Wasted._ The Thai man shook his head. “Jeez, that sucks ass”

      Leo was such an American, it was almost cliché. Phichit had already told Otabek the news via text and they had already talked about it. It wasn’t like he needed it, he just wanted it because he had liked the singer for a long time and wanted to tour with her. But the audition had been about the time his mother started to get sick and he couldn’t give it his all. Otabek thought Peach had forgiven himself by then, but guessed not.

       “You’ll do better next time, P” Yuuri failed to console as he sobbed for his own situation “You’re such a good-” Hiccups “-dancer.”

       “Oh my God, Yuuri, just call him already.” Leo interrupted, frustrated. Otabek wondered about the tone of his voice while finishing his first beer.

      Yuuri opened another bottle with his shirt and was still sobbing, his face was red like he’d been sunburnt.

       “ _I caaaan’t” T_ he Japanese man let his arms hang loose and lifted his chin, like a child throwing a tantrum. “He haa~ates me now” It was true that Yuuri was letting go, his voice was only getting louder.

       “He doesn’t hate you, Yuuri.” Otabek stated.

       “He’s probably getting wasted himself, the poor bastard.” Leo completed.

      Phichit only nodded, chugging the rest of his Bud. Yuuri was holding his glasses with one hand to wipe away his tears. He looked so young.

      “Yuuri, you should call him.” Otabek started and continued even though Yuuri tried to complain “Remember? We talked about this.”

      “Yeah, it’s like midnight in New York, right?” Phichit encouraged.

      “How can I call him so late at night--”

      “Come on, Yuuri, he’s come to pick you up later at night before.”

     Yuuri suddenly looked at Leo and instantly avoided his stare. _Embarrassed._ That didn’t sit well with Otabek.

      “Aren’t you taking this too personally?” Otabek asked, letting his annoyance show.

      “The fuck do you mean?”

     Otabek only raised his eyebrows in response.

     “It’s true, you’re sounding more bitter than usual tonight.” Phichit told him, laying down, hands under his head.

     Leo sighed. He scratched aggressively at his scalp. Something was bothering him. He took a gulp of his beer and put it down loudly, inclining his torso back, supporting himself on his arms, legs crossed in front of him. Yuuri looked calmer. It seemed like the tears had also shied away. Otabek took a gulp himself.

      “Okay, sorry.” Leo said, still bitter. “But you guys are just _stupid!_ ” he turned to his right “Not you, Peach,” and turned to his left “ _but you two!_ I’ve only seen Otabek pay his full attention to two things in my life and those are music and Yuri Plisetsky, yet you’re hiding that from him like a ten-year-old!” Otabek couldn’t bother to be offended, so he just kept drinking his beer as if he hadn’t heard anything. “And _you_! You’ve been sleeping with this dude for months and somehow you’re not dating and somehow you’re drinking with your roommates instead of being with him! _WHY ARE YOU SO FUCKING STUBBORN?!”_

Otabek turned to watch Yuuri. He had his head down, was playing with his fingers.

      “Who the hell are you to talk?” Phichit replied, sleepy “You’re more afraid of coming out than you are of S.T.I’s.”

      “That’s exactly what I’m talking about! I was here wasting my time like loser and Guang-hong got himself a boyfriend, okay?! Don’t you fucking get it?! People aren’t going to wait for you to get over yourselves forever!”

      Oh. So that was what happened. Otabek hadn’t heard of the Chinese boy in months and hadn’t seen him around either. It wasn’t unexpected. Even Otabek that had eyes for no one but a blonde painter had fooled around with people here and there. He understood where Leo’s frustration was coming from, although the American man didn’t understand where their anxiety came from. However, Leo was drunk and angry at himself. He was also jealous of the people he thought still had a chance. It was a matter of watching his friends make the same mistake that he made.

      “This must be hard for you, huh?” Yuuri said, trying to steady his voice.

      “That’s ‘cause he’s stupid.” Phichit blurted out. Otabek huffed and let a grin show. It wasn’t even Sunday to be dealing with his crap. “You’re the stupid one, Leo. Stuuu~upid.” Wasn’t that kid sleeping?

     “I know. Fuck.” The American man finished his last bottle. “Can’t this be a lesson for you guys, huh? Yuuri?”

    Otabek turned to him. Yuuri was looking at Leo. He then switched his glance to Otabek. The Kazakh pressed his lips together. _Whatever you want. No pressure._ Yuuri got his cellphone in both hands and looked at it in the space in the middle of his hips and crossed legs.

    “It’s not as easy as you think it is.” The Japanese man said in a more natural tone of voice.

    Leo shifted where he sat, bending his back forward, trying to be closer to Yuuri. “I know it’s not, I’m an idiot and an asshole, but isn’t there anything you can take out of this?”

     Was there? Yuuri hadn’t been the only one lectured that night. If he were to wear Yuuri’s shoes, would Otabek try? He took one more gulp.

     “I miss Yuri.” He said, suddenly. Even Phichit turned his head towards him. “I talked to him once and then never again and I miss him.”

     It was surreal for those words to be coming out of his mouth. He hadn’t been saying them even to himself. But it was true and it was bothering him like crazy. Yuuri and Leo scooched closer to him and, even though it was harder for him, Phichit sat closer too. It was hard to look at them in the eye. Yuuri and Leo had a hand on each of Otabek’s shoulders.

       “Why don’t you talk to him, too? Text him or something.” Leo suggested.

       _As if._ He didn’t even know the blonde’s phone number. Otabek just smirked and shook his head.

       “He doesn’t know me.”

       “Beks, you don’t know him either.” Phichit said.

       “I don’t. But I know _about_ him. More than I _should_ , and I hate it. I hate it because I feel like he hates everything that I know about him and I think that, maybe, if we do get to talk and if we have any kind of relationship and he realizes that my whole conception of him has been based on these things, he’ll push me away and I’ll become one of them.”

       “Is it about the admission?”

      Otabek furrowed his brows and turned his head to Leo. “The what?”

      The American man cleared his throat. “You know… The girls that got us in today, remember? They told me that Yuri never had to go through the admission process because he’s the professor’s nephew and some people kind of bully him for that.”

      “That’s not true!” Yuuri yelled, still not in control of his loudness. “I’m sure Viktor could’ve pulled that off, but Yurio would never accept it!”

      “I’m just saying what I heard! What else could be so shady that Otabek wouldn’t-!”

      “Jesus Christ, shut up!” Otabek shouted. Fuck, it was hard to be around people.

     Both guys got a little taken aback and retreated slightly. The Kazakh took a deep breath.

      “Listen, what you need to know is that Yuri is nothing like you first perceive him. He will destroy every impression that you have of him. That’s why I am _sure_ that nothing that these people spout is true.”

      “So what is it?” Phichit yawned.

      He wasn’t going to say anything. No matter the amount of alcohol or the BPD, he was never going to tell anyone a word. They lived too far away to be aware of Yuri’s history. And Otabek was sure that he had a point when he started talking, but he’d lost it along the way. Accepting that it was disappointing to go to University knowing he wasn’t there and coming home knowing that he wouldn’t be there the next day and going to sleep knowing that they were as far apart as they’d always been, but the wish to see him and to hear his voice and witness the shades of colors that shifted in his eyes had gotten much greater. He missed him and he was afraid, because if love was what he felt, wasn’t it uncontrollable? And, as it was love that he felt, wasn’t it one-sided? That… That shit hurt big time. But, more importantly, wasn’t the person that he loved in pain? Shouldn’t he be there?

      Oh, yeah. He had a point. Viktor and Yuuri were in pain. They should be with each other, because they could. He turned to the Japanese man and he forced a tight-lipped smile. Otabek held the hands that wrapped around the cellphone in his.

      “Call him, Yuuri.”

      “I ca-“

      “You can. We’re all here with you. If you guys can take care of each other, then why not?”

      “I can’t even call him by his name…”

      “You just did. Just now.”

      Katsuki swallowed. He had, he had said it loud and clear. He was considering it at last. They watched as his eyes found their determination. Yuri dialed and took the phone to his ear. At that point, Otabek wondered, if he were to wear Yuuri’s shoes, would he?

      He would. Because Yuri would be crying alone and that was bigger and more important than fear.

      As soon as the man answered, Yuuri started crying again. And he tried to do so silently, but Viktor was saying something to him that made him start sobbing again. He looked his age, though. He looked stronger. There was no weakness in crying. Yuuri got the phone away from his ear and turned the speaker on on the arm of the couch. He had both of his hands covering his eyes and the back of his head against the wall.

      “Yuuri? Are you okay? Are you crying? Talk to me.” Viktor sounded worried.

      “I’m sorry, Viktor, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

      “Sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with you. Don’t cry.”

      “How can you say that? I made _you_ cry!” The Japanese yelled at the phone as if it was the professor himself.

      “You called me by my name, angel. You make me so happy. Don’t cry.”

      “How come you aren’t mad at me?”

     It was like the energy in the entire had become softer with that realization.

      “Because you did nothing wrong. I was sad because I… I’m scared that you might not… want this anymore.”

      “I do. I do. I love you and I want you and I want us to be together, I’m just stupid!”

      “Darling, let me see you.”

      “You can’t. I’m a mess.” His voice was small.

      “I miss you. Let me look at you.”    

     They were feeling better and they were smiling and slowly taking the cue to get up and leave them alone.

      “Okay… Hold on.”

      “I love you, too” was the last thing Otabek heard from the call; Viktor’s greeting. The guys went to their bedrooms and Otabek left through the back door. He wished he could call and see Yuri’s face, but the closest that he would get to it was at the Art building, looking at a picture of an exhibit that had already passed. That would be beautiful forever.

 

* * *

 

 

       It turned out that Otabek came back home in a police car that night. When he arrived at where Yuri’s display was at, there was another student spilling alcohol on it and, before he could question himself, the Kazakh was already running and screaming at the man, asking what the fuck he was doing. His fist found the guy’s jaw in a flash, then the guy’s found his lips and all the while the display was burning to the ground. The dude also smelled of alcohol and security had to pull Otabek away from him. His name was Nick, Otabek found out when the police questioned them. He wasn’t there to hear the guy’s story, though, since the cops took him back to his house and the school said that they would have a conversation on Monday morning. He was probably going to get suspended. The guy had probably spent that night in jail. And Yuri had a psycho burn his picture at school. _March_. _Sucked_.

        He finished translating out of desperation on Sunday because he absolutely had to get it done. Then he figured he’d subtitle during suspension, which made him feel great when he actually got the news. That Monday morning, Otabek had taken the bus to school only to be sent back home for the next two days. Sweet. He was getting overworked anyway.

        The Kazakh did stop to sit down at the park in front of campus, on a bench. He was just going to listen to a few songs and prepare himself to work his butt off and probably get close to finishing his thesis. He was only going to come to school again on Wednesday. Maybe Thursday, he’d probably get obsessive when getting work done and miss just one more day. He hadn’t seen Yuri since the birthday party. Otabek was concerned. He was only getting suspended for trespassing because he had done a good deed by stopping that Nick guy. He hoped that the guy was only looking to cause trouble and didn’t have something against the blonde specifically, but after learning from Leo about Yuri’s bullying, it was hard to let go of the idea that maybe he was in danger being there. Otabek had his earphones in and The Rose was playing. Sam had a characteristic voice. Their sound was like a better version of The 1975. He was analyzing the instrumentals and his eyes were closed when he felt a light kick on the sheen. He opened them.

         It was Yuri. In the flesh. Beautiful blonde hair that was wavier than usual, parted more to one side, falling on his face, and the other tucked behind his ear. Black eyeliner. Green eyes that sparkled in the sun. He was wearing a black earring that looked like a plug but wasn’t and a Harley-Davidson T-shirt that was too large on him and almost covered the jean shorts he had underneath. If Otabek had ever idealized a person, that was it.

       “Hey” Yuri exclaimed, loud enough to be heard through the music as he sat beside the Kazakh. Otabek took his earphones out. “Heard you punched a bitch.”

      What a way to put it. He turned only his head towards the blonde. Yuri had the slyest look on his face.

      “I might’ve.”

      The teen shook his head and reached for his backpack. Otabek shifted to sit more to the side and direct his body towards him. Yuri got a sketchbook and black fineliner out. He opened it on a blank page, not allowing Otabek to get a glimpse at the rest. It made him even more curious.

      “Don’t do that.” The blonde told him.

      “What?”

      “Only pick fights for your own sake.”

     His voice was steady and serious as he started drawing. Lines so precise, they didn’t seem to have been made by a human hand. Otabek went back to his first position, sitting normally, his arms spread on the back of the bench. They could touch Yuri if he wasn’t bending his neck a little. The Kazakh only allowed his eyes to look down at the paper.

      “What do you think happened?” He tested.

      “I’ll tell you exactly what happened.” The drawing as starting to look like something. It was human characters in manga style, that was for sure. “Nick the Prick here,” So that was who he was drawing. Otabek laughed. “tried to be like me, couldn’t. Tried to fuck me, couldn’t. Then he tried to set my fucking face on fire and Beka the Trespasser was obviously there to stick his nose where it didn’t concern him and get suspended.”

      _Beka._

      At that point, Yuri stopped what he was doing to glare at the Kazakh. He was being scolded. The “tried to fuck me” part and the “tried to set my fucking face on fire” didn’t let him feel any remorse.

      “That’s what happens when you do shit for other people.”

     Otabek felt his eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly. It was heartbreaking that Yuri felt that way.

      “I don’t think so. I got myself two days off.”

     Yuri’s eyes became worried. Otabek wasn’t ready to feel the blonde’s thumb on his lip. There was a fading cut there from the fight.

      “Was this what the fucker did to you?” The blonde turned Otabek’s face from one side and to the other. He seemed pleased when he made sure that the cut was the only damage that was caused. Yuri huffed and smirked. “Weak.”

      He turned back to the drawing. It was amazing how it was shaping up to be a fight. One character punching the other. He was so skilled and focused, Otabek wished that he could just quietly watch but his heart was still half-racing from being touched so suddenly. He needed to talk. He missed him.

      “Shouldn’t you be in class?” Otabek really didn’t know. Nothing had happened to make him memorize Yuri’s Monday schedule.

      “In theory.”

      Otabek huffed and tried to scold him back. “Yuri!”, but saying the blonde’s name out loud caught them both off guard and the blonde instantly turned to him, then shrugged it off and looked back down.

      “I did intend to go, but I heard about what happened and I thought you’d be here.”

      The Kazakh’s head tilted subconsciously to the side.

      “Why?”

      “’Cause I can see you from Viktor’s apartment and sometimes when I come to buy Larry’s snow cones.”

     For Yuri, that probably meant nothing. But the ladybugs were running toward a leaf paradise in his chest.

      “So you knew me.”

      “What?”

      “When I went to your party.”

      “Well, duh. Why the fuck wouldn’t I have kicked you out if I didn’t?”

     How could he say those things so naturally? Of course, Yuri didn’t know that what was coming out of his mouth was probably life-changing to Otabek. So he had been noticed. He hadn’t been kicked out. _On purpose_. He felt like less of a creep then. And he was being drawn as a manga character by Yuri Plisetsky, one with an undercut and the hoodie that he had been wearing at the party, punching a funny-looking Nick that was so clearly a side character that would never appear in the story again. The blonde giggled to himself as he filled in the blacks.

       “You know, once, I sat next to you just to check if you’d notice, but you were so focused on whatever music was playing that you didn’t even move.”

       He hadn’t. It was mind-boggling that Yuri had taken an interest in him and he hadn’t noticed, even for only a moment. But there was something warm and something that he was fond of when Yuri told a short, funny story about themselves that Otabek was hearing for the first time. He’d miss him more the day after.

       “Otabek.”

      He was pulled out of his haze without Yuri even looking his way.

      “Yeah?”

      “What do you want from me?”

      _I want to know you. I want you to be happy. I want to say I’m sorry (louder)._

 “What do you mean?”

       “Why did you do it? Punching Nick and going to Viktor’s house?”

       “Why do you think?”

        The blonde sighed. He let his back reach the back of the bench - Otabek loved the texture of the Yuri’s hair on his arm, like he had loved the paint on his palm that night -, displaying the drawing. It was a sick, sick portrayal of the fight. Otabek looked like the protagonist and Yuri’s style had so much of plain black in it that it reminded him of the shounen manga he liked to read when he was younger. Yuri signed it, with a period. He turned to Otabek and pressed his lips together.

        “I think it had nothing to do with me.”

        “Wrong.” It would’ve been easy for Yuri to push him against a wall then. He wasn’t thinking clearly when he gave such a reavealing response. 

        “Then don’t do it again.” He turned to place the tip of the liner on Otabek’s character’s lip to give him a cut and blood. He drew an arrow next to it and the word “Weak” on top of it. “Put yourself first or you’ll get into trouble, got it?”

         “I got myself drawn by Yuri Plisetsky.” More like _drawn to_ , but whatever.

        Yuri laughed. “And I’m expensive as fuck. Is there something you, like, really wanna buy? Like a car or something?”

         “A Harley Davidson Street 750. I’ve been saving.”

         “Mm, I’m probably worth more than that.” The blonde started writing numbers on the bottom right corner after a dollar sign. It was his price tag. And what a loooong price tag that was. Then he ripped the paper from the book. “This is for you. We’re even.”

        _We’re not even by a thousand light-years._

The blonde got up after Otabek took the paper. He settled his backpack on his shoulder.

         “Don’t forget to give me my charcoal back, you thief.”

          Yuri meant to walk away, but Otabek had been holding onto that piece of charcoal since they had last seen each other. He quickly got it out of his backpack’s front pocket and grabbed it in his hand, the same that he used to hold Yuri’s to make him turn back around, the same that he used to hold on to Yuri’s to help himself get up, the same that he let open and let the charcoal slide into Yuri’s grip as they stared into each other’s eyes. He was happy to see himself reflected in those eyes again. He let himself smile. Yuri seemed surprised by it.

          “See you in two days, Yuri.”

 

* * *

 


	7. What's the same in every language?

 

        Otabek’s family would be in town on the 26th. There was still quite a while until then, but he was already dreading it. He had long cut ties with his parents and, though they accepted it, it seemed like they used it to insult Otabek freely. In a quiet tone, disguised in poise, they would inject more poison into him and every time that happened, it killed the snake on his arm - his resolve. The Kazakh tried his best not to think about his early teen ears. He’d hated them without even realizing it, projecting that hate towards himself instead.

       When Dahlia came out, Otabek became aware of his own feelings. He had looked at girls before and he thought that they were pretty, but thought those same things about boys and that was supposed to nail his feet together, one arm to each side, one nail for each palm. He had seen Dahlia get beaten until she lost her voice when she was eight and said that she wanted to marry a friend, another girl, from kindergarten. At that time, she was just a child with brown hair that was growing out its curls, a voice that was as sweet as honey, but had never lost its rasp ever since. Otabek didn’t know, as a teenager, that he had absorbed everything that he’d been told inside that house. And he didn’t know that when he realized he’d like to kiss a boy, that it would make him throw up.

        The Kazakh learned about himself as if he was reading the autobiography of a murderer, a criminal, a demon. It took him too long to break free from that internalized homophobia that made him disgusted with himself. It had also been a shit ton of work to direct that blame towards the people that had raised him. But he had. He finally had and he wanted nothing to do with them. His niece was a beautiful girl who knew nothing about him. He was nothing but an estranged uncle who had left to try and live the good life. She wasn’t allowed to be alone with him, so he regretted the time when he went to visit and had to have the conversation:

        “You and your sister won’t deviate this child.”

        He felt silly for a second, for thinking that he didn’t hate himself anymore.

 

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**Daughter  – Run**

And I won't tell my mother

It's better she don't know

And he won't tell his folks,

'Cause they're already ghosts

And we'll just keep each other,

As safe as we can

Until we reach the border

Until we make our plan

 

          Otabek hadn’t been to the gym since he had heard of the visit. It wasn’t like he had reached rock bottom, but still felt quite drained. He needed to do something to make himself wake up. It was something he always tried to do not to fall into the same pit over and over again. However, he needed to time the subtitles. Compared to translating, it was a drag. He had started it as soon as he'd returned home from the park, but had taken too many coffee breaks and barely passed the twenty-minute mark. At least, it was one of the highest-paying jobs he had ever been hired to do, so when that paycheck came, he’d have enough money saved for the motorcycle he always wanted. If he were still living in Detroit, he probably would’ve been able to buy it much sooner, however, living in California proved difficult to allow him to even get more tattoos while saving whatever was left after food and rent and the gym membership he hadn’t been using. When he thought about the money - to make himself find sitting on the same spot counting seconds on a Video Editor worth it -, Otabek decided that he would buy the bike and he would do it before his parents came to town. And he’d use it to get the fuck away from them.

            He finished late at night, barely aware of the hour, hungry, but also too burned out to actually feel like eating.  Otabek decided to take a shower, just to go into a limbo. He washed the sore off his back with boiling water, got his fingers through his hair to snap himself out of that lightheadedness. He’d already done all the steps to wash up successfully, but he didn’t want to leave. He hadn’t even turned music on, it felt like there were fingers pinching his eardrums from hearing repeating noises through headphones for seven hours. When he was younger, he used to sit down and let the water redden his knee caps as he watched it drop slower and slower the more he got used to the speed. The Kazakh did realize that the temperature wasn’t usual, not everyone enjoyed superficial burns, but it helped him out of oblivion. Everything was a tired attempt to make himself believe that he existed.

           Since he had been to his first psychiatrist, his sister, and she had told him that he had set himself into a path of depressive states and irregular mania, Otabek had a hard time finding himself. Who was it inside of him that was making those decisions? When was it that they'd started guiding him towards the dark? What did they look like? Did they have brown hair or the black dye had also been their choice to project themselves into reality? Maybe it was part of the reason he didn’t enjoy being around people. He didn’t know how to introduce himself. Didn’t know who he was at all. Those were the thoughts he had in the shower, the ones that turned off the bathroom lights. When he grew older, Otabek would jerk off to give himself something to do, to turn the sound off in his brain. He’d been avoiding it recently, though. More specifically since he had caught a glimpse of a certain blonde’s bling on his left nipple and that was the image that came to his mind to get himself off. Otabek would not masturbate to Yuri. He’d rather be impatient for the rest of his life than use him so carelessly.

           The black-haired man stepped out of the shower, not bothering to wrap a towel around his waist since he was alone in the house, also not worrying about the droplets sliding down his ankles and wetting the wooden floors. Yuuri hated it, but Yuuri wasn’t home. Otabek did get dressed when he reached his bedroom, threw a tank-top on and annoyedly put on his black boxers. It made him click his tongue. He wouldn’t have to do that if he lived alone. Given he wasn’t hungry enough to act on that hunger, Otabek took his time looking at the drawing taped on the wall, the only piece of decoration that there was in his bedroom. It made him feel vulnerable, his skin sensitive from the hot water, his left hand on the right side of his ribcage, his right hand on his arm, as though he was holding himself, either comforting himself or trying to keep himself together. Yuri’s piece looked out of place in the middle of his computer screen and the lamp that was still on. It had a lot of personality, it protruded out of the paper. Otabek had looked at it closely on the way home, the page was textured, tinted yellow, he had followed the lines like braille on the bus. It’d made him smile.

           And that was one of the reasons why he hadn’t even thought of going anywhere close to Yuri. Otabek had seen him and dared to hold his hand, smiled on the way home, displayed his piece on the wall like a museum of his deepest dreams and wants and he had gotten into work. He had thought about his parents. Then his teens, his sister, his self-hatred. How he wanted to leave, how he wanted to be alone, how he wanted to get off… Then gone right back to looking at it. And he felt sorry for himself. Then he felt sorry for Yuri. It had taken him time and a page of his sketchbook. He couldn’t repay him for anything, and it was worth _a lot_ , more than the numbers the blonde had written on it.

           The way the teen signed and the way that he had written “weak” were slightly different.

           And that was on what Otabek was focusing now.

           His signature was more common, kind of rushed, rounded upper-case Y and lower-case “u-r-i” and a dot. The latter, however, was written with serif, clearly the Cyrillic alphabet style bleeding into the Roman. So he wrote more often in Russian. Otabek was the opposite, and he also wrote mostly in cursive. It was then, standing there in his confused, complex fascination that he heard giggling in the distance. Someone had arrived and had brought someone else over. It didn’t take long before the shouts of “Is anybody home?” started getting closer to his doorstep. So Yuuri had brought someone home. It was most likely Viktor. Good. _Quite impressive._

          “Me.” He replied in Japanese as Katsuki knocked on his door. “What is it?”

          The older man gently opened the door and peeked inside, his hair was disheveled and his glasses weren’t as clear as they usually looked. “Just wanted to let you know that Viktor’s here.”

           “Great.” Otabek told his friend, who had flushed cheeks. “Did you guys have dinner?”

         He’d have to eat at some point and didn’t want to disrupt whatever they wanted to do in the living room.

          “Not really, have you?”

         The Kazakh shook his head, shifting his glance to the drawing again, as a way of reminding himself of what he had been doing that he hadn’t eaten while the house was still empty. Yuuri nodded, instantly energized.

           “Then I’ll make us some ramen!” And he shut the door and left. _To make ramen, I guess._

 If Viktor was there, was Yuri alone? Was Mila with him? Or someone else? Was he working on something or had already slept? It made Otabek wonder what time the blonde liked to go to bed. Yuri looked like an early-riser, but something inside of Otabek told him that his art could only be conceived at night. Even though he had so many more items on the list of nothings he knew about Yuri Plisetsky, he wasn’t even close to figuring him out.

          Yuri lived with his uncle. He had a straight-barbell piercing on his left nipple and wore black, winged eyeliner. He didn’t believe in meddling in other people’s businesses, knew how to draw shounen manga style and thought that beautiful things only stayed beautiful if they were gone in a short amount of time.

           Also, Nick had tried to fuck him at some point.

          That interrupted Otabek’s listing because he felt somewhat annoyed, with no right to be whatsoever, but he was going to work on it and pipe down.

 

* * *

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**Taemin  – Stone Heart**

 

In the strange maze where you trapped me

You’re so beautiful, I can’t even breathe

 

         Yuuri had already put music on when Otabek decided to answer to the Japanese man calling his name. He was thankful for the food and glad that his friend had gotten into the singer’s Korean releases because that was the language that the Kazakh was immersed in at that moment, but couldn’t shake this feeling that he was third-wheeling (hard) when the three of them sat around the coffee table that someone had brought back to the space between the couch and the TV. Viktor was sitting in the center, back towards the couch. Yuuri and Otabek were facing each other.

        “Wow. This tastes amazing.” The Russian man complimented, his accent a tad thicker than usual. They had probably been drinking earlier.

        It smelled amazing, too. Counting the green pieces of vegetable sprinkled on the noodles was an efficient way of not thinking about his awkwardness. They were all using chopsticks just because, Yuuri wasn’t particular about it, but it made the dish a little more refined. Otabek did think it tasted the same as instant noodles from Walmart, though. He heard the Japanese man thank the professor shyly and Viktor was trying to leave windows for him to enter the conversation, but Otabek pretended that he didn’t notice them and ate quietly, the sound of slurping taking over awkward silences.

        “Ah, Otabek! I’ve been meaning to ask you!” Viktor didn’t continue. He slurped once again. Otabek felt obligated to turn his gaze towards the blue-eyed man. _What is it?_ “How was it that you ended up mangled on that burning incident in the Arts building?”

       _Fuck, and I almost got to finish eating and leave._ Otabek shrugged, unfazed.

“I was just there.”

       “Kin has an admirable sense of justice.” Yuuri commented, nonchalantly.

      Kin sure did, whoever that was to Yuuri.

       “So I’ve been told.” Viktor replied. It made the Kazakh wonder for the rest of the sentence. “I’m grateful. I know that wasn’t Yurochka, but an image has quite a lot a meaning, don’t you think? It feels like you defended him in my stead.”

       Otabek shook his head slightly. He filled his mouth with noodles, considering what he had to say to be irrelevant. It hadn’t been that big of a deal. He was still lacking for losing his temper – the goal was to knock the asshole’s teeth into the roof of his mouth if he tried something like that again, but to do so calmly and coldly. _Haha. What a sociopath._

“Yuri was quite touched, I feel like.”

       Still four green pieces left. Adjust fingers. Slurp. Blink. _Do not let it show._ What other people said meant too little.

       “Oh, yes.” Katsuki sounded pleased. “I was so~o surprised when he talked to me first.”

      Otabek looked up from his bowl towards the Japanese man. _Where are you taking this conversation?_ People that knew about his crush had a knack for exaggerating. Yuuri’s eyes instantly glistened cynically as he wiped the sauce off his lips.

        “He asked a lot about you.”

        _Jerk. Where do you think you’re taking this?_ Otabek clenched his jaw ever-so-slightly. His friend noticed it. It wasn’t hard to sense the Russian man’s eyes catching glimpses of them, one at a time, to figure out what that tone meant. Viktor had never heard it before.

 “I was just there.” The Kazakh told Yuuri, more assertively this time.

        “Sometimes that’s all one needs.” The Japanese man replied with a grin. _Son of a bitch, Viktor’s right here!_

        The Russian man turned his body hastily towards Katsuki, his left hand clasping the edge of the coffee table, jolting his torso forward, closer to Yuuri’s face. It wasn’t good. Nothing about that situation could be good, and the ramen had lost its spice.

        “You think my sweet Yuri has a crush?!” _Alarmed. Not denying._

       God, he didn’t. What a childish conversation. He didn’t know why it was getting to him so much. Katsuki took a gulp of his water. He looked like he had done a good deed when the cup hid his mouth and lined his glasses.

        “I’m just saying that he’s interested.” Yuuri placed his hand on top of Viktor’s in order to help him relax. He kept looking at Otabek. “He wanted to know if he should have Viktor appeal your suspension.”

        “He never asks me for anything…” The Russian man almost whispered, half surprised and half disappointed.

        What the hell kind of dinner was that?! He could’ve gone to sleep without learning that Yuri felt guilty enough to go to such lengths. Otabek took his plate and cup and got up without a second glance. Fuck, he’d rather Yuuri tell Viktor his entire life story than imply that the guy’s nephew had interest in him and not the other way around. It was so unfair to Yuri, it made his neck twitch. At least, Katsuki hadn’t told him to go and do it. _“Yes, please, have your uncle save the ass of that sick fuck that adores you! Sure! Go and do that and give an actual reason for your colleagues to bully you, you gorgeous piece of heaven-work.”_

        Otabek thought the voice that he was making in his mind was ridiculous.

 

 

* * *

 

  

     At random times, he caught himself worrying about falling for Yuri.

           Sometimes he brushed it off and convinced himself that it would go away if he ignored it, sometimes he worried about it for far too long. He wasn’t as stable as he wished to be. Or maybe he was too stable. It was a problem, Otabek thought. A real one. And one that messed with emotions, which made it huge. There were too many possibilities and they created knots as they crossed each other in his head.

            In the situation that Otabek allowed himself to fall for Yuri, there were two possible outcomes: one, he’d suffer from heartache until he managed to get over it, and he wasn’t good at getting over strong feelings such as love and strong people such as Yuri. On the other hand, in the – dangerous to consider – possibility that Yuri corresponded, the boy would have to deal with the Kazakh’s personality and that had a chance of going too wrong, too fast.

             Third option if they were mutually in love, then Otabek would also have to handle himself and work harder on getting better. He would have to manage being around someone freely and having someone close to him, knowing him intimately, allowing himself to be vulnerable, but also growing stronger to be able to hold him and to care for him as he deserved. When Otabek thought about it, it weighed on his shoulders. At that point, in his heart, he couldn’t imagine a day when he would want the blonde away from him. However, it wasn’t realistic to think that he’d magically win over social phobia and borderline personality. If he were to think about it rationally, being a trusted partner to Yuri would burden him at some point. Not because of Yuri, but because of himself. The constant pressure of being good enough for him. Otabek worried, also, if it was possible that he would transfer that burden to the teen. “Why are you so distant?” “Why are you so quiet?” “How come you never call?” Those were questions that he had been asked many times before and he was aware that it made people doubt themselves when he didn’t act normally, when he didn't treat them like they were supposed to or were used to being treated.

             

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**Flatsound - If You Love Me, Come Clean**

****

I can always pick up books in the search of what I need

But that doesn’t help me any if you’re impossible to read

So if you love me, if you love me

Come clean

 

 

         The fourth scenario was that Otabek would completely erase Yuri from his life. Not watch him from afar at the park, not catch the colors of the brushes in the blonde’s back pocket, not sit next to him, not hold his hand, not test him, not send him snacks, not have his drawing, not see him in “two” – one, now – days. He felt trapped in the way that he seemed to have no power in his hands to make that decision. He felt like he was finally on the verge of admittedly loving the blonde painter boy that had led the way out of a cage when Otabek was thirteen years old.

          It had kept him awake and, with heavy eyelids that threatened to close, but never did, he told Leo to come in. It was five-forty-four in the morning. The American man was wearing a red baseball cap and had his shiny blue jacket folded around his arm. He tiptoed inside for no reason at all.

         “Are you just getting home?” Otabek asked, supporting his arms on his bent knees on the bed.

         “You will not believe what I just saw.” Leo whispered too excitedly for the time and sat next to Otabek. The Kazakh told him to go on by tilting his chin. “Yuuri and the professor are asleep on the couch.”

        Otabek rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. Leo smelled of sweat.

         “That’s good, right?”

         “’Good’?!” The American man smiled, wide and joyfully, clutching the Kazakh’s knees as a way of trying to infect him with all the excitement “It’s freaking amazing!”

       Weakly, the corners of Otabek’s lips curled up. It really was amazing, wasn’t it? Not like he wasn’t expecting the outcome, but it always meant a lot when it turned out to be worth it, the dread of leaving one’s comfort zone. Yuuri had really done it.

         “Is it now your turn to confess to Guang-Hong?”

        Leo shook his head, kind of swinging it from side to side, like he was listening to a mellow song.

         “Can’t break them up, can I?” He retorted, turning his body towards the wall, clutching the matress with his hands. Otabek decided to get up. If they were to have a conversation, he’d have to get over the lack of sleep. The Kazakh pulled a pair of sweatpants from his wardrobe.

         “Can’t you, though?”

         Leo scoffed, Otabek could imagine the smug on his face. “I mean, I am pretty good.” _It’s different with men “_ But he hasn’t tried to talk to me in months. I’m probably as good as dumped.”

        “Isn’t it more like you dumped _him_?”

        The American man sighed heavily. “I’m such an idiot. I swear, if he opens the most teeny-tiny window of opportunity, I’ll jump on it like there’s no tomorrow.”

        Otabek didn’t quite know how to reply, so he nodded and made an “uh-huh” sound with his mouth closed. What was the next step after putting on pants? He ruffled his own hair and went to brush his teeth, left the bedroom door open.

        “What about you?” Otabek heard his friend ask from across the hall “Any luck with that blonde of yours?”

        _Of mine. Heh._

“Nope.”

He needed to get a new toothbrush, it was starting to poke his gums and the bottom was kind of gross from being stuck in the humid container. Otabek spit everything and rolled his eyes at the sight of a little bit of blood. Why did he always forget to replace it? Drying his hands on the sides of his pants, the man walked back to his bedroom to find his friend standing, as himself had been before, gazing with a shy of smile on his face at the drawing on the wall. When the American man turned to Otabek, he had the same face as when he entered the bedroom.

“You lying dog.” Leo whispered as if he had just heard the most exciting of news. “Where did you get this?!”

          _The signature._ Otabek shrugged and fought the urge not to boast about how fucking sick that drawing was. He decided to sit on his desk again. It wasn’t like he was dead tired from doing just that for seven hours, right?

“He gave it to me.”

          “Yuri just _gave_ you his number?!”

          _What a pothead._

“No?”

          “What do you mean ‘no’? It’s right here!” Otabek did turn his head from where he sat and followed his friend’s index finger that was pointed at Yuri’s price tag. It made his thinking glitch. “Sneaky bastard, how did this happen, huh?” Leo slapped Otabek’s shoulder “You can’t hide it from me, whose else would this number be?”

         Honestly, calling it “half-listening” would’ve been a stretch. Otabek was basically deaf, practically sensing waves of sounds the Leo directed at him. The longer that he looked at it, the more it actually did look like a phone number, didn’t it? Without the periods and the commas and, obviously, the dollar sign, 8…18, 818— _Holy fuck._

“Oh my God, you really didn’t know.” The American man deadpanned. Otabek didn’t care about whatever look he had on his face. “Seriously, how dense can you be?”

        Yuri had, in fact, given him his number, hadn’t he? It wasn’t like that that was random or some other person’s/place’s. What sort of unexpected, gigantic milestone was happening? What should he be celebrating? When had it turned out like that?

        “Dude, that’s literally our area code. Your thousand-year crush has made a move on you, don’t just stand there!”

 

       Yuri didn’t like birthdays. His father was in prison. He had an uncle, Viktor Nikiforov – who was asleep in the living room –, a cousin named Mila – who had a twin on foreign exchange – and he lived in a visually cold apartment, ten stories high.

        He had a cat, didn’t like when Viktor played music and had a grandpa named Nikolai. Yuri wore winged eyeliner, had eyes like the picture of a blurred island and the palms of his hands felt dry from all the paint.

       Stunning Russian blonde. Nineteen. A painter. $81.829.951,00

 

 

* * *

 

 

> Worth more than a Harley.

 

      So, just like that, Otabek sent a text message to Yuri Plisetsky. At that point, the possibility of not following through with getting closer to him had already flown out the window. It made him happy to do it, although it was a little nerve-wrecking. It made his eyes open wider, but he also felt that, if he were to go to bed, he’d be calm enough to fall asleep. It was too early for anyone to reply anyway.

 

**< told you**

 

      Otabek had saved the contact as “Yuri?” It made him smile in such a nervous way that it felt like a twitch on his lips. Another balloon popped up.

 

**< early riser?**

 

     Which one should he reply to first? Should he apologize for not noticing the number? Should he say that he hadn’t slept yet? He decided to reply to the first one.

 

> I was still surprised.

 

     And not ignore the second, though he didn’t think that it mattered. He held in the urge to ask if Yuri also hadn’t slept.

 

> (since yesterday)

 

**< wow**

**< shoulda seen that**

 

> me surprised?

 

**< uh-huh**

 

           _How does he say these things?_

 

> You can catch it at any of your showings.

 

            _Too forward? Probably too forward._

 

**< \--‘**

**< forgot ur “a fan”**

 

> You have a lot of “fans” from what I saw on Saturday

 

          From where Otabek stood, leaning on his shoulder against the closed curtain of his bedroom window, he sent texts to a beautiful blonde boy he had only hoped to watch from afar. As Yuri lay on his studio’s floor, the Kazakh could imagine the cellphone being held up high above his head by straightened arms stained with oil paint. What colors were they? In his head, they were shades of green and they looked like a projection of painter’s eyes. The teen told Otabek that he had tested “Smoke Out” three times before shipping it months prior. Meaning that he had had to start from scratch four times. It amazed Otabek and it helped add more facts to the list of nothings that he knew when Yuri told him that he had a new scar as of then, from being burned on the back of his shoulder when the flare was too large the first time. It made the Kazakh want to put ointment on it, even though it had already healed and even though it was silly of him and even though it creeped him out a little bit. There was something inside of him that felt that Yuri should have someone to look after him and him only. That he deserved as much and Otabek wondered if the blonde missed it, if he had been left with a scar for ignoring that there was a very real burn on the back of his shoulder.

         So Otabek felt a little braver and told him how it had been worth the exhaustion since that had been a sight no one in that room in New York or the theater in the Art Institute of California would ever forget, and that it was quite an accomplishment because it meant that, even in the worst, most chaotic days, those people would always know what beauty was. He chose softer words, he split the text in more balloons than necessary and he used abbreviations, although it didn’t come naturally to him, just so that he could express those thoughts without sounding too forward or too poetic as he tended to come out.

 

> They’ll never not have something beautiful to remember n that’s worth a lot.

 

          Good enough. It wasn’t casual because Otabek wasn’t casual. It wasn’t only flattery because it was Yuri.

 

**< stan**

**< but thx**

          The Kazakh chuckled to himself. Yuri sent him a picture of his breakfast, grilled cheese and chocolate milk. Viktor was at Otabek’s house, so Yuri was alone. Did Viktor make him breakfast in the mornings? Also: So Yuri wasn’t a coffee person. Had he grilled the cheese as they texted? Wasn’t that too bothersome? Otabek decided to leave Yuri to eat in peace and told the blonde so. Otabek realized that he was hungry himself, which was a rare thing to happen that early, but he hadn’t slept, so… His phone beeped.

                                                    

**< already ate**

             Then, Otabek made his coffee and stirred his scrambled eggs as Yuri told him that he couldn’t cook for shit, Viktor made him breakfast in the morning.

             It wasn’t bothersome at all.


	8. fall: to drop or come down freely under the influence of gravity

       Of course, Otabek hadn’t finished his thesis. It was due on Monday, but he was not in the mood to write about sadness and creativety – he wasn’t sad, he wasn’t creative. He was floating aimlessly in an illusion that him and Yuri had some sort of connection, that they had texted back and forth about unimportant - absolutely interesting – things. Yuri had a hard time sleeping during the day, even though he had spent the night wide awake. He was working on a scenery piece, the challenge was to use the mediums that they enjoyed the least and, for Yuri, it was gouache. He said that it dried up too fast. Yuri had started painting with watercolors, then switched to oils and he wanted to try digital at some point, but traditional took too much of his time. Viktor and Yuuri had woken up while Otabek was cooking breakfast, but he had taken his food to his bedroom before they had the time to notice him. Yuri mentioned it when Viktor arrived home, said he looked like he had gotten laid. Otabek didn’t know about that, but it was a possibility. As long as he didn’t have to hear moaning, it was all good. He was still pissed about the Japanese man running his mouth the night before, so he mentioned it briefly during lunch and let it go after Yuuri blamed it on a little too much red wine. He’d gotten laid for sure.

        There were many remarks made by both Leo and Phichit about Katsuki and also about the fact that Otabek’s phone wouldn’t stop beeping. The American friend ended up tattling about the phone number event and it made Otabek finally leave to the gym. Yuri was busy as well and they replied to each other during breaks. He could get used to this, the Kazakh thought and there wasn’t a cell in his brain that told him otherwise. Otabek feared that kind of self-assurance.

         And they ended up texting until nightfall. And Otabek told Yuri “good night”.

         That made him fall asleep easier.

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**Flatsound  – To See You Alive**

You told me that you were so

Scared of what they know

But love isn’t afraid

Love is using your first name

In the poems that I wrote

 

      Otabek slept for eleven hours before he jumped out of bed. It was Wednesday and he was not going to stay home another day. It was the two days later that he had spoken about. Therefore, he was to find the thinnest white shirt that he could and put on the same black jeans that he always wore. The Kazakh threw a hoodie in his backpack, checked his phone to find an e-mail from Professor Lane asking him to pick up the damned poem and switched the sound to his headphones. Everyone had already left, strangely. Or maybe some were still sleeping. There were coffee mugs in the sink, though, so he didn’t feel worried. He had a glass of water and went out the door to begin his forty-minute long walk to university.

        Yuri was at the same spot, buying the same blue snow cone. He was wearing high-waisted shorts and a loose cropped flannel. He had the same red sunglasses on his head and his hair was straight and hiding his profile. Otabek couldn’t believe that he had talked to that boy all day yesterday. Yuri turned his head for not longer than a second and it made Otabek’s whole body shake. Had he been caught? Then the blonde got his cellphone out of his front pocket and his locks fell beautifully as he looked down. There was a familiar beep in the Kazakh’s ears.

 

          **Yuri? <** ur starin

 

         Otabek swallowed. He’d been caught. And it was thrilling. So much that it made him bite the inside of his bottom lip as he walked towards a blonde boy licking a snow cone. Otabek was certain that he would write about this too many times. Yuri didn’t turn to him when the Kazakh stepped closer.

         “Which one?” He pointed at the banner showing all the colors and flavors of the snow cones.

         _That one._ Otabek thought to himself as he caught a glimpse of the melting blue in the blonde’s hand. It was bubblegum flavored. However, he had a personality (he decided). Otabek leaned back to check in which colors the brush hairs were painted that day. They weren’t – it was too early. Yuri was looking straight at him when he straightened his spine again. Eye color was a permanent thing, but Otabek was caught off guard every time he saw for himself, from that distance, just how _green_ Yuri’s eyes were.

 “Lemon.” The Kazakh replied. He wondered why he hadn’t bought a snow cone before since it was always hot as hell in California.

         “So that’ll be two.” Yuri told the vendor and pointed at Otabek with his thumb “He’s paying.”

       The Kazakh did look at the blonde with the side of his eye, already reaching for his wallet, but couldn’t help but smirk. Yuri’s lips were turning blue. The vendor tried to hand Otabek the yellow snow cone, but the boy took it in his free hand – since the Kazakh was opening his wallet. When he paid for the treats, Yuri gave him his and turned in the direction of the school. Otabek did the same, walking next to him, although still an inch behind because he still didn’t know what the boundaries were.

       “You’re too obvious.” The blonde said, and Otabek’s head already went to a panic – there were too many things for him to be caught “It’ll cost you to check me out.”

       Okay, he wasn’t expecting that. He was sure he had at some point, but avidly tried not to.

       “When did I?”

       Yuri gave him a side-eye that made him feel like he had just been stripped in the middle of the street. Were there so many times? Otabek searched in his head whenever he had caught a glimpse of Yuri’s shorts; it was true that he always paid attention to his back pockets. _Oh, the brushes._ He had been too obvious to take a look at them for sure.

        “You mean to look at your brushes?”

        The blonde scoffed. _Fair_. And he put a hand over his mouth, of course he’d find that ridiculous and kind of funny.

         “Why would you--?” The blonde voiced as he turned back, walking towards the closest trashcan and threw away the empty cup. “I’m warning you…” The blonde began. Otabek wouldn’t lie that he did look past the brushes then. His shorts weren’t stained with anything and they looked perfect on him. Yuri turned only his head. “This ass ain’t cheap.”

         He’d been caught. Somehow, it wasn’t embarrassing. It really was funny, wasn’t it? He was like a fanboy. Was it absurd to think that Yuri seemed to _know_ that he had no further intentions? He took a lick of his own snowcone and Yuri came back to his side.

        “[I] Don’t mind it.” The Kazakh said “These _are_ pretty good.”

 

* * *

 

 

         The lecture wasn’t boring. He was on his toes about taking a Performance class, but he had to, at some point. Up until then, they hadn’t been made to sing or even speak in public, which was more than he could’ve hoped for. The teacher was nice, a young man, with background in indie production, so Otabek was interested in what he had to say. Also, he had a pleasant tone of voice. The professor promised exciting projects in the near future. Otabek decided not to think about them until they came. It was useless to grow anxious when things were going surprisingly smoothly. He was going to have a relaxing day, he’d decided. Dahlia was going to call later, so he should prepare his mind to talk about their family issues. It wasn’t too bad because it was with her and she was a great sister, a great listener, too. She was dating a woman from Astana and seemed happy about it. Otabek was looking forward to hearing her talk about good things. She deserved them. 

         By the time the lecture ended, Leo caught up with Otabek as he packed his stuff in the front row. The American man had arrived late that day.

        “Wanna grab lunch?”

        The Kazakh only nodded and left his desk, his friend walking beside him, chewing gum.

        “What do you think he’ll make us do?” Leo asked. Otabek assumed he meant the professor.

        “Don’t know, don’t wanna know.”

        “Didn’t you get a vibe he’ll make us sing?”

        He had. The professor had talked for far too long about singing for tips in Hollywood Boulevard to make ends meet when he, himself, had started university. Having his students sing was the best possible outcome Otabek could imagine. He had sung in a punk rock band in high school, so he was fine with ignoring small crowds that didn’t directly interact with him. He only hated the “after” part, when girls turned into groupies and strangers turned into long-time friends (in their own heads). The rest was fine, he was decent.

         “ _That_ ’d be a walk down memory lane.” Otabek replied, wondering what his bandmates were doing then. Harvey was going to play a gig at the Spring Music Fest in Ohio; he’d sent an e-mail inviting Otabek, but they weren’t as close as they used to be for him to go all the way to Ohio just to watch him play. He was good, though. If he ever came to California, the Kazakh would attend for sure.

         “I’m offended by how I’ve never seen—

         “Come this way real quick.” Otabek turned left and Leo followed almost skipping.

         “As I was saying. I’ve never watched you perform.”

         “’Cause I haven’t since I graduated high school.”

         “I still don’t get it. You’re a pretty neat singer, yet you don’t even accept collab-ing with me.” The pout that the American man was making could be heard in his voice.

       Otabek huffed. He didn’t see what was so special about performing or recording. If he was to tell the truth, working with music wasn’t his dream. He loved it, but it wasn’t what he was passionate about. Still, Leo was such a character.

        “What if the professor has us collab, huh?” Otabek elbowed his friend gently.

        “How should I bribe him?” The American man joked as they stopped.

       The Kazakh knocked on the door before opening it. Ms. Lane was inside, sitting on the professor’s desk. She had just finished her lecture.

        “Excuse me.” Otabek said.

        She turned to him and her face went from stern to gentle, and she gave him a small smile as she told them to come in. She found the piece of paper inside of her folder while they were walking her way and was ready to hand it to Otabek when he stood in front of her. He took it.

         “Thank you for letting me use your work as an example.”

        He felt embarrassed. Leo was right beside him. He tried to shake his head as a way of saying that it had been no bother.

         “If you need anything, any help, you can always come by.” She told him, lifting her chin to look up at the student.

         “Thank you.” Otabek replied somewhat reluctantly. It seemed to him like he was accepting her kindness and, though it didn’t feel right, he didn’t know how else to reply and get out of this embarrassing situation.

        He quickly folded the piece of paper as they left. Leo picked up the topic of Yuuri and Viktor again on the way to the cafeteria. He had sent a text to Japanese man asking if they were, in fact, in a serious relationship this time around and Katsuki has replied with “I guess so” and a smiley-face. Leo was more excited about it than anyone else apparently. They had to stop too many times on the way for the American man to greet friends and acquaintances. Otabek made sure to be a step beside him, checking his phone. The first time, he opened his messages. Yuri was still the last person that had texted him. There was nothing knew. Otabek wondered what he was doing, probably working. He wondered if he had had lunch or intended to.

        On the second time, he changed the contact name from “Yuri?” to “Yuri.” Because it was definitely him and that was just mind-blowing.

        He was caught the third time, when they were in line to pay for their plates. Yuri had sent him a text. They had spoken about how they ate poorly if there wasn’t anybody to cook for them, since the blonde had his uncle and Otabek had Yuuri. Yuri Plisetski sent him a picture of his “lunch”: salted cucumber Lay’s. It took him a second too long to realize that Yuri wasn’t telling him “Hey, I know you sent me this. Haha. Gotcha.” It was just a picture of a green bag of Russian chips. However, it was satisfying to see them in Yuri’s hand.

          **Yuri. < **eating my veggies

 **Yuri. < **who needs stupid viktor

 ****_Cute._ Otabek had to hold back a grin.

“No way! Is that Plisetsky?!”

           “Shut up.”

         **You > **Not you. 

Otabek signed for Leo to take his place in line, but the American man was still turning to look at what he was doing. It was great and all that Yuri liked the snack, but that really was no lunch. The Kazakh shook his head at how Yuuri-like he sounded. At the end of the day, his friend did have a point in worrying. Katsuki had said to him once: “This is bad for you, Kin, and you matter” when he was chugging jack in broad daylight. Otabek felt the same about the blonde boy that he was talking to.

           **You > **But what does he usually make you?

The Kazakh was very aware of the plate still in his hand and there were people bumping shoulders with him as they tried to get in line, but…

            **Yuri. < **soggy noodle salad

 **Yuri. < **moldy avocado sandwiches

 **Yuri. < **bland meat tacos

Leo made sure to point out that Otabek had let out a small chuckle. But, okay, there was a taco place in the cafeteria. Otabek finally stopped letting people take his place in line.

            **Yuri. < **he’s lucky ill eat anything

“May I have this wrapped to go, please?” The Kazakh was also fully aware that the cashier lady hated to wrap food to go. She had to separate it to put as neatly as possible in a box and, all the while, the line got longer and stressed university students only got hungrier.

            “Hey, will you not eat with me?!” Leo complained. Honestly, Otabek was barely aware that he was there. “Already?!”

 **You >** Are you busy right now?

             “What do you mean? I heard your other friends inviting you for lunch.”  

             “True, but are you already ditching your buddies to score some?”

            Otabek frowned at him. “He’s not something to ‘score’.”

             “You know what I mean.”

             “I don’t.”

             He did. It was irritating to hear, still.

             **Yuri. < **just eating

 **You >** Where?

The lady came back with a grumpy expression and his lunch. Otabek took it and happily paid and tipped her the change. As they were leaving, Yuuri appeared, recently showered. _He missed class._ And it looked like he had come by car, otherwise the heat would’ve dried his hair.

             **Yuri. < ** ab n2 128

_Arts Building. North wing, second floor. Room 128._

  “Yuuri, thank God.” Otabek greeted, in sort of a hurry. “Will you, please, keep him company?”

              “He’s going to meet the other Yuri!” Leo complained, like the snitch of a brother Otabek never had.

              “You don’t say.” Yuuri replied with a smirk, eyeing the Kazakh. “Well, then, finally!” His expression turned to a joyful one, with a bright a smile. “Itte, Kin-kun.”

              “Doumo.” He replied.

             **You > **I’ll be there in fifteen.

 

* * *

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**Copeland  – Thanks to You**

****

I hope that you can see the strength that pulled us through  
Is now passed on to me, I wear it like you always do

Like you always do

 

      It was hot as fuck, like always. Just on the way to the Arts Building, Otabek had already soaked his hoodie with sweat and stopped to take it off, leaving only the thin white shirt underneath, but, well, it was drenched too. He hated the California weather, he absolutely despised it. He hadn’t gotten used to it and he probably never would, so farewell to those daydreams about Florida, nothing was worth getting toasted. What a way to arrive to see Yuri.

       Otabek knocked on the door, a little bit too weary, thinking that there might be someone else other than the blonde inside. He hoped to God that it wasn’t someone he didn’t know that opened the door and it wasn’t. It was Yuri, hair tied up in a pony-tail, drinking from a plastic bottle of Aquafina with a straw, white paint on his fingertips like he had touched a cloud. Wow. Just _wow_. The Kazakh stretched his arm to hand him the bag. Yuri squinted his eyes slightly and his lips let go of the plastic with a flick of his tongue.

        “What’s this?”

        “A raw meat taco.”

       The smile that showed up on that boy’s face was a heatwave that turned the sun itself into dirt. He looked like a kid that had just gotten a surprise gift. So he wasn’t used to it, random acts of kindness. He should be.

       “You my postmate?” Yuri asked as he inspected the inside of the bag. It was rhetorical.

       _I wish._

“Who needs Viktor?” Otabek countered.

      It should’ve also been rhetorical, but Yuri looked up at him with a grin that slowly stretched and Otabek thought that it was going to turn into that same smile, but it didn’t.

       “Not me.”

     He was too unarmed, too unguarded when the blonde turned his back at him and displayed a tattoo he had on the nape of his neck.

 

WASTE 

of paint

of tape

of time

 

      Otabek could cry right then. Because he knew where that quote came from and it was the lyrics of his favorite song of all time and he also had lines of that same song tattoed on his left side. Of course, it made so much, _so much_ sense. Yuri was surrounded by paint, so of course he’d listen to a song with a suggestive title like “Waste of Paint” and Otabek had always been fascinated by Yuri, so of course he would listen to it too. But that was a connection that was too real for him to swallow. And he didn’t believe in fate. He did not. _He did not._ And he turned around. He was leaving, his heart was beating in his throat. He caught himself shutting his own mouth with his arm. Just… What were the real odds? How could he explain this?

      “You.” Yuri called in a demanding tone. “Where do you think you’re going?”

 

     _It’s not them, but me/Who’s lost my self-identity/As I hide behind these books I read/While scribbling my poetry/Like art could save a wretch like me/With some ideal ideology/That no one could hope to achieve/ And I am never real/It’s just a sketch of me._ He had all these words written in prose, in a typewriter font on his ribcage. Did he really have anywhere to go? Was there anywhere else to be other than there? He turned around again.

Yuri had green eyes that struck through his soul like lightning. He was an Art Student, kept two to three brushes in his back pocket and had a cat named Potya.

     His uncle made him food because he couldn’t cook for shit. Yuri didn’t like birthdays, he hated the convention of it all. Also, he had been born on the first of March. He was nineteen.

     Yuri wore black, winged eyeliner. He drank Aquafina and he also had Bright Eyes lyrics tattooed on the back of his neck.

      “Come on, you’re sweating like the piggy.” The blonde said, taking a bite of his taco. He knew nothing. He was so, _so_ painfully clueless. How was Otabek looking at him? Yuri gestured for him to come inside. “Get in the air-conditioning.”

      Shocked and powerless and overwhelmingly in love, the Kazakh got into the room. It was full of canvasses painted with unfinished pieces that blurred themselves in Otabek’s eyes. _This is his world._ It was Yuri’s world and it was… foreign. Where should he go? Where else should he be? Then the boy himself appeared so close to him it was like a vision, wiping his own mouth of sauce with one arm and drying Otabek’s forehead with a cloth with the other. It was white and it would get in the way of the sight of the blue and purple, pink and lilac lines that made labyrinths under Yuri’s translucent skin. He could cry. He knew that, inside, he was crying because that was what the tightening in his chest felt like.

      “Did I order a marinated fanboy?” Yuri joked, his eyes following the white cloth that he bounced on Otabek’s cheeks, then chin, then neck.

      _No, you did not._

      _Love, you did not._


	9. 비 (rain) is unvoiced like 피 (blood)

          Yuri wasn’t aware, but he’d been too kind as to point out that Otabek was still carrying the box of his own lunch inside of a plastic bag that hung from his wrist. The blonde had told him not to worry because that room wasn’t going to be used until later that day – they could sit at the table next to the wall and eat. Casually, for Yuri, nervously, for Otabek. So it did happen like people said. It came with no warning, it was not a question. Love just came, as simple and as complicated as it was, love appeared and became a part of the lover. Interesting. He had never felt like that before.

          There were three seats on the square table. Otabek sat next to the wall and Yuri sat in front of it. Thankfully, they weren’t facing each other – another act of kindness that Yuri could cross out of his daily list, if he only knew. The Kazakh sat and he took his knife and fork and he picked some of the lettuce and some of the steak, some of the rice, led the bite to his mouth and chewed on it to shut himself up. He wanted – badly – to bring up Yuri’s tattoo. If it were only possible, he would just ask about it in a casual manner, however, it’d be hard not to feel like he was omitting something important from someone important in that process. He’d already been omitting too much from Yuri and, if he stopped to think about it, he’d be shredded by the thought of being hated later on, when it was impossible to let go.

          He should’ve left sooner. Since “later on” had already come.

          “Is it that hot outside?” Yuri asked as he’d just finished swallowing his food. He wasn’t even looking at Otabek then, already going for another bite of the taco.

          It didn’t happen like people said. Otabek wasn’t sitting there awkwardly, unable to grasp the idea of being spoken to by the object of his affection. It felt more natural than it had ever been, and that was what was so dangerous about that newly-found sense of being connected – it might as well just be a glass-coated kite string that had wrapped itself around two unknowing necks. _Why am I thinking like this?_

  “It’s the same as always, which is hell to me.” Had he taken too long to reply? _Wipe mouth. Fork. Knife. Cut. Pick._

“So I’ve noticed.” Yuri seemed to want to say something else. He opened his mouth, but just breathed in instead. Otabek was going to ask how it was for him in return, but he was interrupted midst-intention. “Otabek, where are you from?”

        Getting caught. One time after another, was being around him a sequence of being found out? However, if he did attach himself to a technicality such as considering himself mostly American, knowingly hiding from Yuri the truth, wasn’t it the same as lying?

        “Kazakhstan.” Otabek replied.

        He knew it. Even though he had only stolen a glance from the boy for half a second, he could tell that his jaw had stiffened. So he connected one thing to the other, too, just like Otabek did. Yuri also thought that the Kazakh was too close to his history, didn’t he?

         It happened just like other people said. The thought of being pushed away was terrifying.

         “I lived most of my life in Detroit, though.” He added, hopeful and ashamed at the same time. “And it’s not nearly as hot as here, not even in the Summer.”

         And, just like that, Yuri seemed to loosen up, even if just a bit. It was a complex feeling, one connection that was pounding on his chest to be made known and another that seemed to lift a weight off of Yuri if kept hidden. How tied were they to each other? And which one was going to fight harder? In his head, Otabek huffed. Of course he would choose, a million times over, for the blonde to go on relaxed. There was nothing coming out of the woods to haunt him. Otabek didn’t know of anything.

         “That’s… good.” The boy let out, lower than before. _Relieved._ But he was eating again, and that was enough. “So you can’t take the heat, huh?”

        Otabek huffed again, really, this time, and he felt the corners of his lips lift. So, _so_ painfully clueless.

        “I just sweat easily.” He replied, trying to sound natural. What to do next? Keep the conversation going? “What about you?”

        “What about me?”

        _Really, what about you?_

 “Do you like it here?”

        Yuri glared at him with a face of disbelief that Otabek had never seen on him. It was like he had “I hate California” written across his forehead and Otabek had blatantly ignored it.

          “ _Me?_ ” The blonde exclaimed, turning the wrapping paper into a ball with both of his hands. “I fucking hate this hellhole.” Then, he started blabbering nonstop and organizing pieces of paper, putting pencils into cases, giving himself something to do with his hands. Otabek didn’t care about eating anymore. “I will never forgive Viktor for dragging me here. He promised me, _promised me_ that I could study traditional in Kyoto, but then the goddamned pig had to leave his perfectly _convenient_ birthplace, come all the way to this plastic dump of a country, whip the crap out of Viktor and now I have to deal with straight assholes trying to screw me on the DL, you have to melt in the motherfucking sun and all the while my scholarship goes to shit.”

           “You got a scholarship to Kyoto?”

            “Damn fucking right I did.”

            Yuri was so open. It made Otabek almost want to look away because it seemed like the boy was too exposed. Just in a few-minute span, he had shown an astonishing amount of emotions and sides to himself. It was starting to puzzle him how people _didn’t_ know Yuri, because he seemed to take advantage of every opening to share what he felt, so how did he spill everything like he had been keeping it to himself for way too long? Like words boiled inside of him and overflowed, hot and angry, _burning_. Didn’t he have anyone else to talk to freely? And why with Otabek? He was afraid of thinking that he had any kind of special quality that allowed him to look inside of Yuri’s world like he was then, to hear about it like he just had, to be invited into it like the teen had done when he was dripping in sweat.

          The blonde’s phone rang. He clicked his tongue and picked it up from the table, standing up, turning around.

          “[ _чего ты хочешь_](http://context.reverso.net/translation/russian-english/%D1%87%D0%B5%D0%B3%D0%BE+%D1%82%D1%8B+%D1%85%D0%BE%D1%87%D0%B5%D1%88%D1%8C)?”

         _What do you want?_

Yuri didn’t bother changing his tone. There was no special quality after all.

         “[ _во сколько_](http://context.reverso.net/translation/russian-english/%D0%B2%D0%BE+%D1%81%D0%BA%D0%BE%D0%BB%D1%8C%D0%BA%D0%BE%3F)?”

        _What time?_

 _“_[ _тебе не надо ехать_](http://context.reverso.net/translation/russian-english/%D1%82%D0%B5%D0%B1%D0%B5+%D0%BD%D0%B5+%D0%BD%D0%B0%D0%B4%D0%BE+%D0%B5%D1%85%D0%B0%D1%82%D1%8C), [_я не одна_](http://context.reverso.net/translation/russian-english/%D1%8F+%D0%BD%D0%B5+%D0%BE%D0%B4%D0%BD%D0%B0). [_Встретимся позже_](http://context.reverso.net/translation/russian-english/%D0%92%D1%81%D1%82%D1%80%D0%B5%D1%82%D0%B8%D0%BC%D1%81%D1%8F+%D0%BF%D0%BE%D0%B7%D0%B6%D0%B5)”

        _You don’t need to come, I’m with company. I’ll meet you later._

Otabek got an urge to close his ears. Yuri didn’t know that he spoke Russian, did he? He should mention it soon. Yuri sat back down, he crossed his arms on the table and laid his head on them, neck turned to the Kazakh. He had already put his take-out back in the plastic bag. When Yuri stopped there, he looked sleepy and… bored? Down over something? Was it whoever he was going to meet later? Otabek pushed his chair a little further back to give himself the wiggle room to get into Yuri’s same position. He was sleepy, too. A little tired from feeling so much. Maybe they were the same. There was a tiny voice in his head that told him he needed to say something, but it was so distant, it held no relevance at all. He was fine just sitting there quietly, looking at Yuri, absorbing everything, processing it. The loose strands of blonde that fell over his face called to him. He wanted, just for a little, just barely, to curl them in his fingers, then let them fall into – or out of – place again. It was such a soft wish that it made him feel relieved. His body wasn’t demanding. It was his heart, the whole time, that wanted Yuri the most.

           “Hey.” Yuri said, it came out almost like a whisper. There wasn’t anyone else, but they were so close that there was no need to raise voices.

          “Mm?” Otabek noticed the softness in his tone. He hoped Yuri didn’t know him well enough to also catch it.

         “How old are you?”

         “Twenty-one.”

         “When’s your birthday?” He also sounded sleepy. And bored. Down over something.

         “October, 31st.”

        The blonde grinned. He looked so young. “Spooky.”

        “You can guess all the costume parties.”

       Yuri shifted, switching to supporting his chin on the back of his hands that he had on top of each other on the table. It made his lips form a little pout. It was sweet, in a way, now that Otabek felt that he was so defenseless. Why?

        “What do you listen to when you sit around at the park?”

       Was he still thinking about it? So Otabek instinctively took his backpack from where it hung on the back of the chair and put it on the table, opened it like he always did and took his textbooks and papers out to try and find earphones. He only had his headphones there, but he’d like to listen to music together, if they could. He found them in the small little pocket hidden inside. He plugged them to his phone, put his playlist on random and passed until he found the first J-Rock song. It had picked his interest when Yuri spoke so passionately about Kyoto. It would be crazy if that was something else that they had in common. Once he found it, Otabek gave Yuri one ear bud and kept the other one to himself.

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**One OK Rock – Listen**

All these years, the days go by

I've seen you fall a million times

Everybody makes mistakes

It feels so hard to watch you hurt

From the pain, a lesson learned

This is how you find your way

 

      “Ha.”

     _You know this song, don’t you?_ The feeling that came over Otabek was like he had been on a roll, winning time and time again in a run-down casino that no one had ever bothered to go into. He was the one who placed the bet, he was also the rest – the people that never visited because, in a place like that (a mind like his), there would be no luck. But he’d managed, somehow, he hadn’t grasped everything yet, doing the right things. Going to the right places, buying the right food, playing the right song. Even if it were only for how many minutes they had left, resting their heads on that table, Otabek felt incredibly lucky. It felt – and what a naïve way of feeling – like a whole chain of events had occurred for that moment to happen.

      “I used to stan them so hard.” Yuri said, not looking at Otabek, chin rested on the back of his hand.

      “Not anymore?”

      “It’s a bitch catching up. I mean, this one’s sorta new, right?”

      “Like last year.”

      “Fuck, I’m even more behind than I thought.”

     Since figuring that out, Yuri seemed to focus more on the song itself and tap his nails on the wood to match the tempo. Otabek had seen Yuri many times throughout the years. He had seen him with long, beautiful blonde hair. He had seen him walk around university like a catwalk. With his own two eyes, Otabek had witnessed a fishnet shirt, a nipple piercing, a V-Line that could cut him dead. He had found Yuri beautiful, devilish, scary. Absolutely gorgeous everytime. But above all that he could see, Otabek loved, _loved_ – and that made his heart inflate in his chest – that they could listen quietly to the same music. He didn’t know how to stop falling.

      “I used to Google Translate every Japanese line.” The blonde commented, making fun of himself, when, by the end of the song, he heard words in the foreign language. “I can’t remember anything I picked up watching anime.”

      The Kazakh went back to the first verse. He had to remember to ask about what anime Yuri had watched later. _“Later”_ , what an underrated word for an underrated possibility.

 

Listen, listen　一つだけ

 

      “Hitotsudake means ‘only one’” Otabek said and Yuri’s eyes widened just a bit, then he was attentively listening. “Then he says “shinjiyou” and that means to place trust in something.”

      The thing was that Yuri was paying too much attention and that made Otabek want to look somewhere else. But he had always… He had always wanted to be looked at by those eyes. It still made him cringe on the inside, but he only took the time to wonder how it hadn’t crossed his mind that Yuri might think he was showing off. Otabek tried hold back his knowledge of languages because of that reason.

 

降り止まない雨などない

And all I can tell you is the best thing to do

(You gotta) Listen, listen

To your heart

 

             “What about now? What does he say now?”

               He looked so interested and in a hurry to learn. What a simply iridescent person

               “Ori yamanaiame nado nai.” Otabek repeated, speaking. Yuri waited for him to continue. The Kazakh grinned at him and he knew he had looked cynical because he didn’t believe the line in the slightest “’There’s no such thing as a never-ending rain.’”

          Yuri huffed and rolled his eyes with that same grin on.

          He didn’t either.

 

* * *

 

          Yuri Plisetsky, from where he sat, like a curious child, asked everything that he could think of. Otabek replied to the best of his ability, even though he thought that the answers wouldn’t be interesting enough – the blonde was probably just trying to fill in the silence.

          “How many languages do you speak?”

          Otabek had to think for a second. He counted on his fingers. Seven? _Nah._ Still too much of a reach. “Six.”

          “Damn. Which ones?”

          “Well, Kazakh. Then English,” _Here it goes “_ Russian, Portuguese, Spanish and Japanese.”

         He didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. So he knew already that Otabek spoke Russian or, at least, had already considered as much.

          “Shouldn’t you be using them for something, though? Why are you in Music?”

         Otabek thought the same thing. He scoffed in his head. It was ridiculous.

         “Out of spite.”

         Yuri let out a little laugh. “How does that work?”

         The Kazakh sat back up. Even if he didn’t feel like holding himself back and sharing that kind of information, shouldn’t he do it anyway out of caution? Even if it wasn’t physically impossible for him to speak, shouldn’t he, rationally, make the decision not to? To start that conversation, to open that door, to start going down that path… That would surely lead to something and he didn’t know what it was. He could picture it, in his head, but the images were not pretty. It was still dark in there and it seemed like they could get lost, go into different doors, different rooms, different spectrums. The words that would come out of Otabek’s mouth, how would Yuri hear them? Because words were a knot that tied itself in one’s head, untied itself on the way to someone’s ears and tied itself again, not necessarily in the same way, shape and form.

          Because, among the threads, there were the emotions of the listener and everything got mangled up.

         However, although he didn’t sit back up, Yuri’s eyes from where he lay caught Otabek’s. Usually, when they stood, Yuri didn’t have to look up. Otabek didn’t know if he looked at him intentionally or it was just natural to because they were close in height. Staring at Otabek with the side of his eye, from such a lower perspective, wasn’t that uncomfortable? Would all the threads tie themselves together with those green eyes’ curiosity? Would his perspective make them a holographic knot that would burn?

         “When I was growing up, there was a piano in the house.” _You don’t need to look up at me._ Otabek laid his head back down. “And I had never touched it, but my sisters would learn lullabies and children’s songs on Saturday mornings.”

        “In Detroit?”

       “Yes, in Detroit.” Otabek replied, reassuring him. “As for me, my father wanted me to be a business man like him and, for some time, I was fine with it. But, then, I thought that I wanted to become my own person, so I started sort of going astray. Dad had a Brazilian business partner and he made the best coffee I’d ever tasted and he called it ‘café’, you know? And it puzzled me because I didn’t know that that word was even Portuguese. I had already learned Russian because it would be important for my career, but Portuguese was a whole ‘nother deal.”

       Otabek already knew so much. Would it make it better if Yuri did, too?

       “So I got no support whatsoever, studied on my own, but then I didn’t get all A’s anymore because everything else was boring as hell. I got a lot of crap for it at home until the business partner, you know? The coffee guy. He came for dinner and we were able to have a basic conversation in his language. He was impressed, so my dad was impressed and all of a sudden I was ‘a natural’, was gonna become a diplomat or whatever. So I was like-“

       “Screaming ‘fuck, no’ in Portuguese.”

       “Yeah, like that. I didn’t know what I was gonna do, but I was _not_ gonna give them the satisfaction. Then, sometime the next year, I started watching anime and I tried learning how to play ‘Unravel’ in the piano, so my mother took it out of the house because it was messing with my studies and language learning.”

      “What a bitch, that’s an epic song.”

      “You and I know, but parents are… Difficult people, to say the least.”

      Yuri scoffed.

     “Mine are trash, too.”  Otabek already knew half of that. He learned that there was something else with Yuri’s mother, then. And he felt dishonest for a second as well because he called his parents by their names and he hadn’t in that story. He was trying to sugar-coat it and make it passable, without turning it into a cry for pity. Yuri never did it. The blonde got up. He looked like he felt that he had said too much. Otabek couldn’t press it even if he wanted to because Viktor opened the door. The Kazakh hadn’t looked back at it, but his voice filled the room.

      “ты опоздал!” _You’re_ _late_.

      Viktor did, however, sound happy and looked joyful when Otabek got up as well and turned to him as he packed his stuff again. Everything was a mess from when he had opened his backpack to find the earphones. Yuri had one hand on his hip and his expression had completely changed. He looked annoyed.

       “Didn’t I tell you I’d meet you there?”

       “Where was ‘there’?”

       “Your fucking office, as always?!”

       “So I thought! But you weren’t ‘there’ and it’s time to go.”

      What distracted Otabek was Yuuri, appearing at the doorstep, almost hissing at the Kazakh to walk towards him like he had something urgent to say and it couldn’t be shared with the Russians in the room. Yuri and Viktor were still arguing about whatever place they needed to go.

       “What?” Otabek asked and Yuri pulled him out of the way and left him with his back to the wall.

      Yuuri was fidgety. More than usual. _This can’t be good. “_ Viktor knows.”

       “Knows what?”

       The Japanese made fists with both of his hands on his sides and shut his lids tightly. “About your feelings for Yuri.”

       The Kazakh’s eyes widened. “WHA-“ _Too loud. “_ What?! How?” Otabek had never gestured that much in his life.

      Katsuki took him by the arm and walked him further away from the room.

      “Leo was running his mouth in the cafeteria and Viktor heard everything.” Yuuri took his glasses out and started wiping the lenses with the rim of shirt. “I couldn’t let him think things were like Leo was saying, so I told him.”

      _JUST DENY IT._ “Why?!”

      “Because!” He looked to one side, then the other and got closer. “Leo said that Yuri booty-called you and you were having sex in his classroom.”

      “Just how the fuck would that—“ Damn it, whispering was just _painful._

 “I know, I know! But Viktor didn’t know and he was angry and I needed to tell him, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

      It wasn’t a matter of being found out. It was the start of a timer. So Viktor knew. Then, Yuri would know. Then, everything – and “everything” was as wholesome as all the satellites in the universe – would burst into nothing, or into “before”. What was it like “before”? It seemed so far away, it wasn’t like he had just fallen in love just then. Or worse. He didn’t know how to stand a trial like a ten-year-old blonde boy, especially as the one who had been caught after too long, when the facts had already started to become a blur. He had no alibi for the times he’d used Yuri for impulse nor for when he’d daydreamed about telling him the truth, not even about how he felt, just about life in general (because Otabek couldn’t with anyone else). He should’ve told him about a late afternoon with the sound of the faint crunch of milk-drenched cereal, the day when he learned too much – something like the song he’d eaves-dropped in the Russian boy’s own home. An assailant, an intruder – “Beka the Trespasser” was more than a character sketched by the hand of a person he didn’t know how to let go.

      And Yuuri still had his palms stuck tightly to each other when Viktor kissed his hair as he walked by, Yuri following behind. Otabek hadn’t even heard them coming out.

      “Text me the rest of that story.” Yuri spat like a code, hoping the couple wouldn’t make it out as they said their goodbyes.

 

* * *

 

      Otabek was still on his way back home when Dahlia called. He’d decided to go to the gym right after school, even though he had to buy the shorts at the kiosk they had inside. At least, he’d already taken the last bus that he needed and was already walking home, so he picked up the phone and they got through the customary greeting of any phone call before he reached the door. Leo approached him too hastily, saying that he was sorry, he didn’t know Viktor was listening.

      “I don’t care.” Otabek replied to him, not even trying to cover the fact that he was pissed out of his mind, covering the bottom of his cell for Dali not to hear. “And, also, fuck you.”

     The Kazakh made sure to leave it very clear that he was on the phone with his sister, immediately returning to the conversation with her and going to his room. He had already showered at the gym.

     “So yeah,” she said, in English, and went back to Zazakh. “I’m taking Reina to visit you, is that cool?”

     He almost grinned, but the “visit” entailed too much. “Of course. But is she fine with the way that our parents are?”

     Dahlia sighed. “Hers are the same, if not worse. They tried to get her to do conversion therapy before.”

      “Did she?”

      “She did start, but she…”

     By the way that his sister held back from speaking, Otabek knew that there was something heavier there and he sensed in Dahlia’s voice that she felt guilty knowing. Really, two birds of a feather.

     “You don’t need to tell me.” He assured here, lying on his back on the matress.

     “No, Bek, it’s good if you know.” Dahlia turned to English. “Ray isn’t shy about it and heaven knows how worried I get about you, so…”

     “I’ve told you I’m fine.”

     “You have, but I don’t believe it from a thousand miles away.” Otabek could hear the clatter on the other  side. “I’ll turn the video on.”

     _Ha._ So Dahlia still had a bunch of crap thrown on her desk that she needed to move out of the way to place her cellphone. Otabek only accepted the request and sat up, holding the phone in front of him.

     “Hi.” She said, and she had such a smile on. What a blessing that that woman had found her smile again. Dali had her hair even shorter and it curled under chin. “It’s been a while.”

     Otabek smiled back. “It has.”

    She narrowed her eyes. “You’re stressed out.”

    “Always.”

    “Is it school?”

    Almost all of “always” it wasn’t school. Otabek shook his head.

   “Is it a boy, a girl?” The Kazakh didn’t reply, but he allowed his expression to let her know that she had gotten half of it right. “Who?!” She didn’t know if she left her mouth open in shock or if she smiled wider. Maybe falling in love was more of a good thing if it made her happy.

   “Who do you think?”

   “You’re screwing one of your roomates?!”

   Otabek made a face. He would never. “You know me better than that.”

  “I’m scared to say it and bum you out.”

  The Kazakh smirked. It made sense. He, himself, had never thought life would turn out to be having lunch with Yuri Plisetsky. “Give it a shot.” He challenged.

  Dahlia got further away from the camera and closed her eyes tightly as if a water ballon was going to hit her next. “Y~Yuri?” Otabek didn’t say anything. “Oh my God, Bek, I can’t believe it. Wow, I hadn’t seen you smile like this in _so_ long.”

   He was smiling? He hadn’t noticed. What a blessing it was for him to have found his smile again.

   “Tell me everything!” _Too excited for a twenty-eight-year-old._

   And he was going to tell her everything, after she had talked about all the things that she wanted. Telling her about Yuri would take too long and, at some point, Otabek would be caught with some doubt by Viktor knowing everything. Yuuri had told him exacly what he’d said and, basically, well, everything. A man, named Otabek, had had a crush on his nephew since he was thirteen and saw him send his dad to jail on national TV. What a fucking awesome story.

       But, then, maybe, that would’ve been better than watching his sister’s shoulders shrink and have her looking down and sniffing as she told him how “Ray”, as she called Reina, had jumped off two-stories at the psychiatric hospital where she was given conversion therapy. After that, nobody dared to take her as a patient anymore. Then Ray, as a seventeen-year-old at the time, moved on with her life and was in Law School. She was still only twenty-three and Dahlia worried about her trying something again if she didn’t have proof that there was freedom somewhere. She wanted them to move to Detroit after Reina got her degree.

      “Why Detroit, Dali?” Otabek nagged her about it again, as always. Why did she want to go back there?

      “It’s our home, **аға.”**

      “Not mine.” He already felt the angst crawl inside of his stomach.

      “Yours, yes, because that’s where I’ll be, and our sisters, our nephews and nieces. It’s where we grew up, little brother, so it’ll never not be home.”

    _My home is where I find peace._ He didn’t care about the image of Yuri the flashed on his mind. If that was where peace was, then that was home. Even if it crumbled to pieces.

     “You know it’ll be triggering for her to be around them.”

     “I have hope that they’ll have time to change.”

    Otabek couldn’t help but huff. “It’s been years, Dahlia. I don’t mean to discourage you… Actually, I do. Just find a place where no one will try to bring you down.”

    “May I come to stay with you and your buddies?” She meant to sound playful, but it was clear that she was just trying to brush it off.

    “You may. Bring your girlfriend. We’ll go clubbing.”

    “Only if you bring Yuri.”

    Otabek got on the play. “I’ll bring him on a Harley.” 

    So he told her that he was going to buy the motorcycle that he’d been saving up for for years. He hoped to go all the way to Huntington Beach and ride back home on the weekend. Otabek mentioned why the sudden impulse – he still didn’t know how his sister could be so calm about meeting their parents again. It was something that he had to stop himself from thinking about otherwise he would go crazy. They hadn’t even asked him. Otabek was a hundred percent sure that they would be appearing at his doorstep as soon as they got off the place to play with his nerves. But Dahlia was still too hopeful, maybe she was too used to it or too happy about her relationship to care. Maybe that was good for her, he didn’t know. It was hard for him to believe that it wasn’t better to keep oneself protected at all times.

     “They’ll flip if they hear that you’re friends with Yuri, though.”

     He hadn’t even thought that far, but she was so fucking right it was skin-crawling. Yuri was “the Dietrich kid” whenever he was mentioned. Otabek had gotten scolded way too many times for correcting them and saying that boy’s name. And Otabek wasn’t just friends with Yuri – Yuri was just friends with Otabek. Otabek had saved a room inside of himself for Yuri that would remain void and vacant if he didn’t claim it.

      “Honestly, Dali, to hell with them. I’m finally feeling better. When I’m with him, I--“ Otabek ignored that it was a video call and laid back down, sat the phone on the pillow next to him. There was no way that he would let her see him all bubbly about a boy. “I feel like it’s alright to be me.”

      It was still so scary to hear how truthful it sounded.

     “I knew it.”

     He scoffed. “Don’t reach.”

     “Am not. I remember you mentioning him whenever you could and being all excited about uni because he was going there too.”

     “That was different. He was someone that I loved to imagine.”

     “And now?”

    Otabek turned to the side as if she really was lying there with him and he had sneaked to her bedroom to share secrets late at night. “He’s funny, Dali.” So simple. “He’s got such a dark, acid humor and I absolutely love it ‘cause it doesn’t piss me off. I would never imagine what his humor was like because he was a figure of courage to me. I wondered what had happened to him and what he felt like, not something as simple as ‘is he sarcastic or not?’”

   “That’s just natural, you’re getting to know him as person now, but you’ve been pining for that kid for years.”

   “Have I? I wonder.” He said mostly to himself. “I fell in love, today, Dali.”

   “Today _today?”_

   “Today. A few hours ago.” How wild, when he thought about it. “What if I told you that we both tattooed verses of the same song?”

    “Already?!”

    Otabek shook it off. “No, Dali, from before. I didn’t know he had it, he didn’t know I had it – still doesn’t, actually. We just decided it meant enough to us at some point, on our own.”

     “Wow. That’s some romantic shit right there.”

     He laughed. “Right?”

     “Was that what had you?”

    Maybe in a sense. But it was the assertiveness of his voice on the stand, his reddened knuckles, the expressive art, the paintbrushes in his back pockets, the “Lift your head up, asshole?”, the loud, loud screamo, the charcoal, even the colorful snow cones and the cheap meat tacos. It was a collection of every little thing that he knew.

     “There were way too many moments that had me and I tried to get away, scared. This is why I think this time it was different. I just realized it, you know? That he had me on some kind of a string the whole time and that I don’t wanna break that string, ever.”

* * *

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**Copeland – You Have My Attention**

****You have my attention

Like you've had all the while

Since that first day when you made my heart smile

With loving eyes and tired sighs that flow

You have my attention

Like a shout through an empty sanctuary

Speak but a whisper

I'll hear a sermon

 

 

    Otabek finished his thesis and he was okay with it. He’d also received an e-mail from the company that had hired him for the last documentary and they wanted him to be their official translator – it was his first steady job. Otabek took it, of course, and he’d be receiving payment earlier than expected, so that motorcycle was a drive to Huntington Beach away. He had a pizza with Yuuri and Phichit and went back to his bedroom when Yuri called. Yuri had never called. He almost choked on the last piece of pizza.

    “Keep moving, runner, as the skin sheds from your feet. Let the bites from the crows and the points of the thorns dig holes into your skin. Cough out the blood that you don’t need since there’s no such thing as being flooded and being clean.”

   When had Yuri gotten a hold of that? Why did he have to know about it? Otabek’s mind went in such a panic that he wished to God that that was the plagiarized one that Yuri was reading to him.

    “Climb the fence of barbed wire, sinner, paint it red from your mistakes. Make it stain the hands of who comes after you, let them know you got away. Turn their screams of hate into a choir, the soundtrack of your escape. No matter which parts of you they shattered, they will never see your face.”

     “Yuri, what is this?”

     “Rude. Let me finish.”

     _Oh my God, please, no._ “Where did you get this?”

     “I stole it.”

     “You stole it?!” Otabek hurried to open his backpack and throw everything on his desk. It really wasn’t there anymore.

     “You’re too careless, Otabek. You even left it open. I couldn’t resist.”

     _Is this goddamn Judgement Day?!_ Why did he have to keep getting exposed?! The Kazakh even let go of his cellphone for a bit, he didn’t know how to save face from that. It was too dramatic to say that he wanted to die, be he wished that he was already dead. He was so embarrassed he wanted to move to the other side of the planet. However, he kept hearing faintly “Otabek?”, “Hello?”, “You there?” and he couldn’t deny that  he was, indeed, there. Why the fuck was he there, again?

     “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” His voice sounded like he hadn’t slept in two months.

     “You pissed? I can’t tell you I’m sorry because that’d kill the purpose of my call.”

      So… Just let him laugh? Maybe? “What was it?”

     “Can I paint this?”

     “What?”

     “I wanna paint this guy, running way from a bunch of freaks that treated him like crap and then leaving them to fucking dust. It sounds a lot like my work, doesn’t it?” What the hell was happening? “You there? I really pissed you off, didn’t I?”

     “No, Yuri, you—well, stealing is wrong, but you did nothing major. I just don’t get the attention that that thing gets, it’s just what I think about when I’m drunk.”

    “Aren’t you a big, insecure box of surprises… This is really good, Otabek. I can feel the rush just by reading it. Wasn’t that the point? Why you got an A?”

    “I just had a deadline.”

    “That’s called talent.”

   It was a different kind of embarrassment having Yuri Plisetsky compliment him. Somehow, every word sounded better in his voice and it made sense, more sense than ever before.

   “That’s a stretch.”

   Yuri chuckled. What a precious sound. It made Otabek press the phone harder into his ear. “You’re really fishing, aren’t you? Tell you what, you’re my fan, right? Don’t you like my work?”

    “I do.” _I don’t know where you’re going with this._

    “If I paint your – what is it? Is it a song?”

    “It was for a song-writing class, but we just had to make it rhyme.”

    “Whatever, your rhymes. If I paint them, won’t you like it? Watch out for your answer, I’ll shove a snow cone on your face tomorrow.”

    _This guy._ Otabek wasn’t embarrassed anymore. “I most likely will.”

    “Then this is most likely good. Because I wanna express in an image what you expressed here in words. Your drunk thoughts are my 2 A.M’s, you know? I also got away from some real deep shit.”

    What was it?

    How to ask?

    And, also, how to replay “Your drunk thoughts are my 2 A.M’s” nonstop during every waking hour?

   “Is this about your parents?” Yuri asked him. He wished he had the courage to ask the question back.

   “Mm-hm.”

   “When I read it, I thought about mine. It seems like, for you and I, whenever it’s not drizzle, it’s a shitstorm.”

 

  降り止まない雨などない

  _There’s (no) such thing as a never-ending rain._

 


	10. Hollywood, Hallyu

     Otabek got up at ten on Saturday morning. He updated his playlist the night before, since he was done with his thesis and had a bus ride to jam through. He was going to make an eight-thousand dollar purchase that day. Even though he wanted the bike, it was such a huge amount of money that he wondered where he could travel to using all of it instead. He was aware that it was just a way of worrying too much and unnecessarily; he had spent everything that he’d saved in his teens on tuition, so he’d had to start over again, was finally there and the timing was perfect since Spring Break was coming up.

      He was wearing just a plain black T-shirt, but he had an Adidas hoodie in his backpack – he was thrilled to be riding back home later. His hair was still wet when he got out of the bedroom and he was ruffling it when he heard Yuuri’s voice.

      “Oh, you’re going somewhere?”

     Katsuki wasn’t alone. He was lying on Viktor’s chest on the living room couch. That seemed to be their spot lately, Otabek guessed, but he had managed to avoid the Russian man and the feeling of being cornered altogether, until then. He wished he could ride himself off a cliff.

     “You know, Huntington Beach.” The Kazakh replied (because he had to).

     “Oh! That’s right!” Yuuri sat up and his boyfriend followed. “You’re going to finally buy your motorcycle!” The Japanese man walked towards him and helped to fix the wet strands of hair on his face. “I’m proud of you, Kin. You worked hard.”

     Otabek was thankful, but he wished not to be praised in front of Viktor – it made him feel even more doubtful of himself than he already did. Even worse when Viktor made his way towards them, his arms folded in front of him.

      “Will you Uber there?” He asked, sounding apprehensive.

      The Kazakh had a hard time replying to him directly, looking into his eyes, so he turned and went to grab a glass of water.

       “I’ll take the bus.” He was as trapped as a mouse in a cage, for Heaven’s sake.

       “Won’t that take too long? I brought my car, I can drive you there.”

      Good thing that there wasn’t enough water for him to spit out, but he did choke ever-so-slightly. He felt like he could’ve choked on the very air that he breathed just thinking about being trapped in a vehicle with Viktor Nikiforov, Yuri Plisetsky’s uncle. Who had, reportedly, been angry about rumors of Otabek having sex with his nephew at their university. Not to mention the most honest truth that Otabek saw Yuri as far more than a friend. Viktor probably thought the Kazakh saw his nephew as a fling, maybe that was better than learning that he saw that blonde boy as the prospect of everything.

       “It’s fine, I’ll ride the way home anyway.” Otabek replied, turning around the counter, making his way to the door.

       “That’s no problem, Yuuri will go with me, right? We can keep each other company on the way back.”

      The Kazakh didn’t even bother to look back and check their expressions. He was screwed. He could already hear the clinking of Viktor’s car keys. Maybe Viktor could throw him out the window and off a cliff.

 

 

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

 **Jaymes Young  – We Won’t**  

Are we just gonna stay like this forever

Floating, I'm serious

My heart is furious

'Cause I'm so confused when we're together

Feels like I'm choking, these emotions

I know I'm gonna let you down

So don't hold your breath now, yeah

Bittersweet in your mouth

Can you stomach the doubt?

I wish I could say what I'm feeling

I'm scared to let these words out

 

     He tried, he did, to focus on the music. It took, at least, an hour less to get there going by car, but that meant a whole hour, and then some, listening to Viktor and Yuuri talk, expecting the time when the Russian man would find a moment to ask him what his intentions with Yuri were. God, was it too late to jump out? A shame that it didn’t even take more than twenty-minutes for them to reach a gas station and Yuuri ask to switch seats with Otabek because he hadn’t slept well.

       “Sorry, baby.” Viktor replied, implying what Otabek thought he was implying and making Yuuri turn beet-red.

      Still, the Kazakh took the passenger’s seat. He was tense to a point where his jaw hurt and he got an urge to grind his teeth, but that would be such a dead giveaway. And Otabek, out of politeness, took the earphones out. Viktor was listening to Train’s Drop of Jupiter in the car. That song had a story for him, one with the first boy that he had kissed in high school. No point in thinking about.

     “Do you enjoy this kind of music?” The Russian man asked in a casual tone.

     No point in thinking about. Otabek nodded. Viktor nodded in return. It was so awkward it made his palms sweat. The driver  took a deep breath  and Otabek knew that was the beginning of a very nerve-wrecking half-hour. Where could he get a shit-ton of carbon dioxide in a car?

     “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Otabek.” He said, taking one hand out of the wheel to feign some sort of relaxation. “You know that I’m aware of your friendship with Yuri, right?”

    _Friendship._ God, he wished to be crushed by the air-bag. Otabek nodded once again. He didn’t know what else to do.

    “He’s nineteen, so it’s not like I have the guardian duty to verify his friends. But I wish that we could talk about him, if you don’t mind.”

    When he put it that away… To talk about Yuri was a door that Otabek was always willing to open. Still uncertainly, the Kazakh said “sure” and let Viktor start his monologue.

     “I heard that you have feelings for him, is that right?”

    That was _not_ talking about Yuri. Otabek took a second to reply. He licked his lips, trying to take in that he was going to have to participate in that conversation.

     “It is.” He replied, without turning to look at Viktor.

     “I hope you know that I don’t mind you feeling that way about him. What ticked me off on Wednesday was the thought of you two fooling around.” Otabek waited for him to continue. “You see, Yuri’s never dated. I know that he sometimes takes a night out, but he’s never introduced anyone or been in a serious relationship that I know of.”

      Otabek hadn’t either. And he’d also taken those nights out.

      “I know that you’re both young and lively, but there are things that you need to know about each other before moving on to anything. You understand that, right?”

      _It’s not like we’re intending to move anywhere._

      “Yes, I do.”

_I wish that I could know all of those things even if we didn’t move at all._

     

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**James Bay  – Let It Go**

From walking home and talking loads

Seeing shirts in evening clothes with you

From nervous touch and getting drunk

To staying up and waking up with you

Now we're slipping near the edge

Holding something we don't need

Oh, this delusion in our heads

Is gonna bring us to our knees

 

      “Otabek, do you mind if ramble for a bit? I’ve never had the chance to talk about this with someone who cared about Yuri.”

      Viktor did go on past toll stops and red lights. It wasn’t like “rambling” though, it was a story that Otabek was interested in hearing. The Russian man shared that he’d been adopted by Lilia and Yakov Feltsman. He was the only son that they had together. Yuri’s father was Mr. Feltsman’s son from a previous marriage and Mila’s mother, Malya, was Ms. Feltsman’s. However, Viktor’s adoptive father did not want him and was only going with his adoptive mother’s wishes. He already had a son who was enough for him. So Viktor had never connected with the family in general and he was just like Otabek, he called Yakov by his name. When he decided to pursue dancing, their relationship got even more fragile. When his adoptive brother went to jail and he took Yuri in, Viktor said that it felt like he had a family for the first time.

    “I fought for that child, Otabek. Fought his father, his mother, in court, in every possible way. I really, with everything in me, just wanted him not to suffer anymore. I still don’t. But I have my faults. At some point, as he grew up and became more independent, I felt lonely again, it made me go down a very dark path… I was like a zombie when I first saw Yuuri. I admit that I was selfish. I am, still. I can be quite insensitive and hurt people that I love, including both Yuri’s. I know that he will find love eventually, but I never want him to be disappointed ever again.”

     What a convenient red light. Viktor turned to Otabek and the Kazakh was paying attention. It was a beautiful story of melancholy.

     “So, if you want to have a college romance with Yurotchka, please leave him be.”

      _That’s impossible._ “I don’t. I don’t even need him to return my feelings.”

      “Then what are you looking for?”

      “I’ve finally found him, I’m not looking for anything else.”

     His blue eyes widened a bit, then they softened and, with a grin, Viktor went back to driving. Otabek was still heavy on his seat by the weight of his confession.

      “I don’t know you that well, Otabek.” He started. “But I know Yuuri and he says you’ve never seen Yurochka as prize.”

      “I haven’t.”

      “I believe you. Because Yuuri believes you and I trust him with my eyes closed.” Otabek saw the man looking at his sleeping boyfriend in the mirror. “I just ask of you one thing.”

      The Kazakh felt safe enough to look and waited for the Russian man to continue.

      “That boy has been through more than anyone should ever. When he’s ready to talk to you, be ready to listen. And I don’t mean to pry, but you should tell him the truth of how you know him.”

 

* * *

 

 

      By the afternoon, Otabek had a Harley-Davidson Street 750 parked in the garage. It was black and it was gorgeous. He even polished it again after coming back home to wipe off the dust from the way. As much as he wanted to get lost somewhere, the motor was brand new, it needed some getting used to the road. Therefore, he went to the gym and caught up with some studying. He felt guilty about letting go of his Korean learning, but he didn’t have the time to think about it and, when he did, he was just filled with Yuri Plisetsky and how he’d appeared and how they were friends and how Viktor knew and how he’d been told to be ready for something that the teen still wasn't ready to tell him.

      It wasn’t until almost nine that he got a text from Yuri.

                     **Yuri. < **wyd?

      How was he doing? What in the world had happened to him? And who had done it? His father going to prison was one thing, but Viktor already knew that Otabek was aware, so what else? Was it his mother? His grandparents? His uncle had put too much emphasis on him not being disappointed again. Otabek was afraid of becoming one more story. He didn’t know if he could hold his own, be he wanted to.

                      **You < **Nothing, really.

      How boring. Maybe he should’ve been riding the bike, after all, then he’d have something cooler to say.

                       **Yuri. < **did u get it?

                       **You < **Yes, I got it.

      Then Otabek sent him a picture he’d taken earlier at the dealership, not mentioning the fact that Yuuri and Viktor had been there. That wouldn’t be cool.

                        **Yuri.** < rad

                        **Yuri.** < pick me up

       The Kazakh wasn’t taking Yuri’s whims primarily as a joke anymore, so every time he came up with stuff like that, it was absurd from the get-go. Otabek didn’t know how to contain himself.

                         **You >** Now?

                         **Yuri. <** u busy or smth?

       Otabek smirked, alone in his bedroom. What a demanding guy.

                        **You >** Where?

  

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

 **Sleeping At Last  – Tension and Thrill** ****

****When I look into your eyes

I see the tip of an iceberg.

When I look into your eyes

I see that love is an iceberg

That throws us into the sea.

We're walking on the ocean floor,

Feeding sharks out of our hands. 

 

         So he started the motorcycle again and took the streets to Mila’s house, where Yuri was. There was apparently a party for her whole class there, since everyone would be going to different places on Spring Break, and _that_ started the coming weekend. Yuri didn’t know anyone there and he said that he was bored out of his mind. It reminded Otabek of the boy’s birthday, when the Kazakh wished that he could take Yuri away. So that time had come, when he was able to be of some use.

         He really should’ve approached Yuri sooner.

         The blonde wasn’t difficult; he was honest in a way that was refreshing. And he said what he wanted, when he wanted it, Otabek didn’t have to guess or to be confused. Of course, all of it was to some extent. There were things, important things, that Yuri kept hidden so deep inside of him that Otabek had caught nothing more than a glimpse from time to time. So he’d decided something. He would open up to Yuri, and he’d turn himself inside out so that Yuri didn’t have to guess or to be confused. The one thing that itched at him was that he felt that the teen wouldn’t take it well that Otabek had known him before they met in person, that he knew so much of his story. If he told Yuri and he shut himself off, how would Otabek be of any use concerning all of those important things that the boy kept hidden? He wished to find a window of some sort, someplace safe and sunlit to place the truth.

          And he wished to be able to tell Yuri that he had grown so much in those eight years. He’d become so lovely. Oh, and that he was funny. That was essential.

         Yuri was already out when he arrived. He really didn’t want to be there, since he started making his way to him as soon as he saw the bike. Mila was apparently still trying to convince him to stay. There were too many people at the windows, it made Otabek anxious to take his helmet off. Yuri was wearing a plain white t-shirt, black ripped jeans and Converse sneakers. His hair was loose and it hid his face intentionally. For a guy that had such a unique style, Yuri _really_ didn't want to be there.

        “Come on, Yurochka, who’s gonna believe we’re a thing if you’re the one leaving with the mysterious motorcycle guy?!”

        “Tell them I love it when you peg me.”

        Damn it, thank God his face was covered because he was _so_ not prepared to hear _that._

        When they got close enough, Yuri said "hi" and put both of his hands in his back pocket.

        “Nice ride.” He said, with a bright a smile. “Did you really sell my drawing?”

        Otabek smiled back at him. He hoped he was able to see it in his eyes. “I would’ve bought a country if I had.”

        “Is that the Kazakh from the party?!” Mila exclaimed. He’d honestly forgotten that she was there. “When did you two even meet that you’re already dumping me for him?”

       When had they met? There was more to that question. When had Otabek met him? In a sense of knowing of him, what he looked like, how his voice sounded, it’d been almost a decade ago. In a sense of seeing him, in the flesh, almost a year and a half ago.

       “Pipe down, hag.” The blonde said, accepting the helmet that he’d been offered. Yuri tucked his hair behind his ears. Damn it, and he’d thought that Harley was gorgeous. “We met at the party, there’s nothing going on, I’ll just pass on your tongue down my throat, thanks.”

       So family wasn’t an issue after all. She was the redhead Leo had seen Yuri kiss that time. Otabek had to admit, he was kind of relieved it was all a hoax. When Yuri got on, he wasn’t shy to hold onto Otabek’s jean-jacket either. It made his stomach drop. What a thrill. But he remembered that Yuri didn’t have a jacket on and, although he didn’t know where they were going, it was pretty late and it was okay to go a little faster. Maybe he’d get cold from the wind. So Otabek took it out and just handed it to him.

       “Put it on.” Otabek told him.

       Yuri didn’t contest and Mila continued to nag him to stay.

       “Just kick them out of your house if you hate them so much.” Yuri said, and added “Let’s go, Beka” almost in the same breath. Already tugging at the sides of Otabek’s shirt. It felt hotter. He felt naked.

       “I guess I’ll do that.” She replied, giving up and walking back towards the house.

       “Where are we going?” Otabek asked and he almost couldn’t hear his own voice over the sound of the motor and his heartbeat.

       “I didn’t think that far.” Yuri said. He was so close that Otabek wished that they had their helmets off. “Wanna go up to the Hollywood sign?”

 

* * *

 

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**EDEN  – Wake Up**

'Cause we've been driving so long

I can't remember how we got here

Or how we survived so long

I'm tryna run from our pride

Till you set fire to my atmosphere

 

      It looked too much like a date. They stopped at a 7/11 to get snacks to bring up the hills and Yuri was wearing Otabek’s jacket and he looked so pretty, it was unfair. Otabek really, _really_ wanted to touch his hair, no matter how creepy it sounded. It looked soft and golden. It was still unbelievable that he was alone with Yuri, going some place on a whim.

       “Doritos or cheese balls?” Yuri asked, he had both of his hands on his knees and he was bending over to look at the lower shelves. Was Otabek staring again? Yuri turned and showed him a smirk. “Or both?”

      “Let’s go with both.”

     It was already 10:30P.M. There would probably be a place for them so sit and watch the city without tourists around. Just the thought of it made Otabek all fuzzy inside. Jesus, he was like a teenager. But the Kazakh hadn’t gone on a proper date with anyone since high school. Even when him and Jamie went to that Mayday Parade concert in Vegas, he felt he had a better hold of himself.

       “Beka.”

       “Mm?” Otabek only realized that he was lost in thought then.

       “Get the drinks, I’ll get in line.”

       Yuri liked Sprite. He’d gotten a scholarship to Kyoto University, hated California and also only had one-night stands.

       He used to watch anime, used to follow One OK Rock, used to be in some real deep shit. Yuri had green eyes that were blinding to whatever they kept hidden, he also wore black, winged eyeliner and had a piercing on his left nipple.

       Yuri didn’t like birthdays, he hated the convention of it all. He lived with his uncle in a visually cold apartment and he’d asked Otabek to pick him up and take him to the Hollywood sign on a Saturday night.

        Otabek grabbed himself a coke, though he wanted a beer. He needed to get Yuri home safe later, and, also, the blonde was underage. He got to the cashier when it was already Yuri’s turn and the teen quickly paid for everything.

        “Didn’t you say it’d cost me?”

        “It’s costing you a shit ton of gas.” The Russian boy replied, hanging the bag on his wrist.

       The jacket was loose on Yuri’s arms, but they were longer than Otabek’s, so the length was fine. Beka wondered if he’d keep it – he wasn’t asking for it back. He could get used to it, putting the helmet gently on Yuri’s head, securing it underneath as those eyes were the only thing that he could see. Getting on the motorcycle that he’d always wanted, then being followed by Yuri’s weight behind him, his arm confidently wrapping around the Kazakh’s waist and how it pulled the blonde’s body forward ever-so-slightly when he did so. It made Otabek’s skin boil. And leaving with him, taking the road, just both of them and both the Doritos and the Cheese Balls.

        Otabek tried to get as close as possible to the gigantic white letters and they did get closer than most people, because most people wanted to take pictures and the whole word couldn’t be seen from such a near perspective. It was very dark, though. It was too high for anyone to live there. The Kazakh had gotten his license when he was seventeen, so he felt kind of rusty and worried about missing timing and doing something embarrassing, like not being able to keep up the pace going upwards. It turned out fine. Otabek wished they had brought blankets. It wasn’t a problem for him, but even in California it would get a little chilly on that altitude, and it was windy, too. He was worried about Yuri getting cold. He was counting on the blonde letting him know for them to leave. A good thing about being in such a vacated place was that it was no problem parking close to where they’d sit.

       Honestly, there was not much to do there. Yes, the city lights could be called pretty and the view from up above made everything look small. But it would be dead silent if it weren’t for the sound of the leaves brushing against each other. Yuri got down of the bike and tilted his head to one side then the other, stretching his neck, then he tucked a hand on his hair, right in front of his face and ruffled it, annoyed because it’d flattened out from being under a helmet too long. Otabek wondered if he should play some music. What did Yuri like?

       “Have you been here before?” The blonde asked, passing to the other side of the low fence that secured that part of the hill.

       “Yuuri, Peach and I came as soon as we moved.”

       “Who’s ‘Peach’?”

       “Yuuri’s best friend. He lives with us.” Otabek replied.

       “That’s a hooker’s name.” Yuri pointed out, pushing Otabek’s shoulder gently down for him to sit. He then opened the bag of their snacks.

       “His name’s actually Phichit. He’s Thai.” The Kazakh explained, taking out the drinks.

      Yuri also sat when everything was laid out on the mix of grass and sand on the ground. He took the jacket out. Otabek’s face must’ve turned into a question mark because the teen was instantly explaining that he thought he’d get cold, so he would save the jacket for later. At least he wasn’t giving it back.

      “I thought you were the piggy’s best friend.” Yuri said, opening his sprite.

      “Nah.” Otabek opened his coke. “Yuuri and I are like brothers who grew up in an orphanage.”

      “That’s strangely specific.”

      “I mean, him and Phichit talk about the same things and they like to go to the same places. They have fun together.” The Coke wasn’t as cold as Otabek usually liked. “With us it’s like… Yuuri taught me Japanese. I go to AIC because he goes there. We’re more like family as a concept.”

     “Mm.” Yuri nodded, chugging his soda. “Gotcha.”

     “Had you come here before?”

     The blonde shook his head, still swallowing. “Nope.” Yuri had his knees bent, one arm on top of them, the other stretched out, holding his can of Sprite. He was looking ahead, his hair flew with the wind, but he didn’t seem to care. “I didn’t think I’d ever come here of all places.”

      “Why did you wanna come?”

      Yuri turned to him. His eyes weren’t green then, they were the colors of the city lights. Otabek wished he could go closer.

      “Whenever I bitched about moving here, people said that I was ungrateful. What painter wouldn’t like to be studying Art in California, right?” The blonde took another gulp of his drink. Otabek caught in his mind even the way that his pinky bent on the can. “You didn’t.” Yuri switched to hold the bag of Doritos in his hands and open it. “Even when I complained to Viktor about it, he said that I was young and there would still be a lot of opportunities for me.”

       The teen shifted and crossed his legs, his body directed to Otabek and offered them to him. He took a few, kept them in one palm and took one to his mouth.

      “You asked me about Kyoto.” Yuri continued. _Thankful._ He broke a piece with his teeth and quickly chewed it. “So I thought it might be okay coming here with you even if I hated it.”

     That was the second time in his life that Yuri’s voice managed to be louder than the crunching in Otabek’s mouth. Right then, he should’ve told Yuri everything.

      “Do you hate it?”

      “Holly’s a boner killer.” Yuri deadpanned.

     Otabek turned his body towards the teen as well. “ _That’s_ a song title.”

       “Either by Fall Out Boy or a 44-year-old widow from Wisconsin.” The blonde took his cellphone out of his back-pocket. “We should take turns to play songs.”

       “You start.”

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**A Day to Remember  – All Signs Point to Lauderdale**

I hate this town, it's so washed up

And all my friends don't give a fuck

They'll tell me that it's just bad luck

When will I find where I fit in?

    

      Otabek did give the boy a side-eye because of how fitting it was and he let his guard down. There was no point in not giving in when all that he wanted was to sit on grass and sand and play 2010’s pop punk.

      “I sang a cover of Have Faith In Me in high school.” The Kazakh told Yuri, not daring to look at him. But, maybe, that was a start to the list of their dangerous connections.

      “Where?!” That was usually the expression people first had when Otabek told them that he used to sing.

      “Talent show, then at prom. We had a band.”

      On a second thought, it was embarrassing as hell.

       “Wow.” Yuri still had his mouth open “I mean, you do look the type, but I thought you didn’t really like attention?”

       Dead on. “I still don’t get it either, but I don’t mind singing in front of a crowd, unless I focus on someone specific.”

       “So crowds are not that horrible?”

       “When I’m not in them.”

       If Otabek remembered it correctly, he had never told Yuri that he wasn’t good with people.

      “What was your band called?”

      He was a good observer. He paid attention. He was interested in what people had to say.

      “I don’t know if I have the face to tell that story.” Otabek replied, and he really didn’t.

      Yuri gave him a light a push on the shoulder and his lungs stopped functioning for half a second. The teen exclaimed “come on!” with a smile in his face and a voice that harmonized so beautifully with the music and wind. It was past midnight and his eyes sparkled like Sunday morning.

     “It’ll start dark, but it gets better, okay?” Beka left the disclaimer. Yuri nodded and dug his hand to grab the left-over crumbs of Doritos in the bottom of the bag. “So when I came out to my parents, the first thing they did was take me out of the private _all-boys_ school that I went to.”

      It didn’t take anything else for Yuri to change his demeanor and let go of the bag, rest his elbows on his thighs and lean closer to Otabek, showing him that he was all ears. Then, the man was sure that he wouldn’t regret telling him something that had caused him so much pain. Otabek didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he kept holding the Coke can that he’d already emptied.

      “So they sent me to public school, which would’ve been fine, if they hadn’t-“ Fuck, it was still hard to revisit. He swallowed. “Well, they, um, told the school principal that I shouldn’t be allowed near boys because of my ‘depraved desires’. The teachers knew, so I had to sit either around girls or alone in the back, which I preferred. But guys still came to ask the name of the new guy or whatever and I saw them being called to the principal’s office and come back looking at me like I had a feet fetish.”

       What an interesting shift of expression. The paced up breathing, the line between his brows, the slight tightening of his lips. Yuri didn’t feel sorry. He felt angry. Watching the way that he listened was as refreshing as the shifting of his own emotions when he was younger, the time when he started feeling angry. Otabek didn’t talk for a minute too long.

       “Anyway,” He continued “someone made up this rumor that I had been kicked out of my last school because I’d harassed a student or something, then someone else spread that it was because I was caught having sex with a guy in the bathroom, which wasn’t true, but nobody cared about that, obviously.” It still seemed so incredibly absurd. “Then the students started calling me names and making up whatever they wanted. One time, I swear there was a cum stain on my backpack.”

       “Tell me you started throwing punches.” Yuri had his hands in fists. It was very nostalgic.

       Otabek smirked. So he _could_ talk about it. “Believe me, I did. But not before they started throwing condoms at me through the windows and calling me Bareback.”

       It was so ridiculous that it made Otabek burst out laughing. Yuri was not happy about it and he couldn’t count the times that the blonde slapped him on the arms.

       “That’s not funny, idiot!”

       Honestly, it was the cutest thing. He couldn’t stop and he didn’t mind Yuri’s hands on him.

       “Stop laughing! The joke’s ruined!”

       However, Yuri did sound bothered and Otabek was inexplicably grateful that he was. But watching that blonde boy, now on his knees, looking down at him with such a distraught expression was what made him forget that there was no music. There were two things that Otabek paid his full attention to: Music and Yuri Plisetsky.

         Mostly Yuri Plisetsky.

        The Kazakh grabbed both of Yuri’s hands before they could reach his shoulder one more time and he brought them closer together in the middle of them. It was just to calm him down, but it made Otabek more nervous than he had been talking about a story that had left scars of him for life.

       “That’s what we called it!” Beka told Yuri, who was still slightly struggling. “The band!”

       “What?”

       “We called it Bareback.” Otabek had to hold himself back from laughing again because Yuri looked so confused. “I changed schools and I met new people and people called us the Barebacks on the daily.”

        Yuri’s eye-color shifted in wave-like motion, going from a sudden blow of the wind to a calm midnight on the lake. His eyeliner had smudged a bit on the corners, maybe from the ride with a helmet on. It was the most perfect, raw combination of elements. The lights, the night, the past, the slaps.   

         Everything; him;

         Him. Therefore, everything.

        He calmed down, then he let himself sit on his shins, then he adjusted himself to hug his knees and hide his face on them. A sweet, feisty, most wild thing with gorgeous blonde hair. Yuri was giggling. Was he embarrassed? Was he bewildered? Most importantly, was he cold? Was he thirsty? Were there any bug bites from tiny earth insects?

        He had such long arms. They were still a cold shade of white, it seemed like he was never in the sun. But he lived in California, so there was no way. It made Otabek think that the teen was probably paler underneath the light coat of a couple of years under hellish UV rays. Even the sun had kissed him _so_ softly, because he was a treasure to touch.

         _I love you so much it heals me._

         Thoughts were said to be words out order, crisscrossed with imagery and sub-conscience. Not that one. It was a sentence as clear as the way that he spoke. It sung in his ears as his own inner voice.

 

* * *

 


	11. Scorpius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, again! It's been a while. I've been busy with work, but I'm hoping to have a lot of free time next week, so I won't leave you on a cliff-hanger like this. Thank you all so much for the love that this has been getting. It's my most truthful work and I'm the happiest to know that it reaches you.

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**Bright Eyes – Black Comedy**

Well, once, I gave a look to you but you never gave it back  
So here I stand expressionless but my memories intact  
I guess the past is good for a laugh  
A comedy so dry and black

It makes my stomach hurt so bad

 

 

 

       “Тәте,

              I know we’ve only just spoken, but may I take some more of your time? I’m sorry, I know that this is selfish… I hardly ever e-mail you and I take forever to reply to your e-mails. I just feel like I’ll go into a slump if I keep talking to myself, so I’m using you. (“Haha”, I guess)

             So I blew it, Dali. One moment, it was perfect. Then, it came to dust on the next. Maybe this was a spoiler to you. I’ll still tell the story, though. I hope that, this way, it’ll stop replaying in my mind, like listening to a song when it gets stuck in your head.”

 

* * *

 

 

        _Yuri enjoyed pretending to be unconcerned, but was still sending voice messages to Mila in response to hers. She had thrown everyone out, at the end, and apologized for being pushy. The blonde, rolling his eyes, said that it didn’t matter and that she should only care about herself. He had said that before, when Otabek had punched Nick and gotten suspended. Yuri already had a tendency to push people away. It first made Otabek glad that he hadn’t told Yuri anything about his history with the Russian painter. Secondly, his reason told him that things could not – better yet, should not – be kept hidden. Keeping secrets in order to maintain oneself safe was like smoking cigarettes. Momentary, addicting – merciless. People didn’t get away with secrets and that was a good thing, because people also had a right to the truth. His third thought was less than a thought and more of a simultaneous translation of a feeling. “I’ll lose him”. From then on, it was an endless discussion with himself. Otabek thought he was too extremist. Otabek thought he was too conceited. Otabek thought he knew where things were going to go. Otabek thought he didn’t know anything at all. On one point each one of his selves agreed: he was too inconsistent and impractical and bound to fail._

_But Yuri’s voice was softer in the night. He held his cellphone to his lips and the tips of his fingers easily hid themselves on the other side of it. The Kazakh randomly wondered if Yuri’s joints hurt sometimes even after a while of not painting or drawing. Because Otabek’s wrist bothered him at times from writing or typing. The blonde looked down and to his side, scanning the ground. He wanted to lie down, probably. Otabek took the jacket that he’d lent to the teen and fluffed it, placed it down like a pillow._

_“It’ll get dirty.” The blonde mouthed to him, even though Mila would not listen, since it wasn’t a phone call._

_Otabek shrugged. It didn’t matter. It also wasn’t like he could offer his chest, so that would do. It was a nice picture to imagine, though. Yuri wasn’t modest, wasn’t hypocritical, wasn’t the type to politely deny kindness. He laid down and his hair colored the black golden._

_“Don’t forget to lock your door.” was the last message he sent Mila that night, at the top of hills._

_The Kazakh was still sitting, looking ahead, with his back turned to Yuri now, as a way of not forcing him to talk about the conversation that he had had._

_“Hey,” the blonde called. Otabek turned his head “do you see that stubborn little star over there?”_

_Otabek turned his head again in order to see where the teen was pointing at. He did see it._

_“Yeah?”_

_“I’ll tell you.” Yuri said, tapping on the grass behind Otabek, asking for him to lie down too. The Kazakh, of course, complied._

_Beka still tried to keep his eyes on the lonesome star, even though he could feel Yuri’s on him. It was intimidating to be lying next to him. The Russian pointed at it again._

_“That’s the stinger in the constellation of Scorpius.”_

_Otabek lifted his eyebrows and spontaneously turned to the blonde._

_“Is it really?”_

_Yuri grinned and let out the airiest, mocking “no?” ever. Then he had his right hand on his stomach and he was still giggling as he looked up._

_“Tsc.” The Kazakh shook his head and kept staring at the single star._

_“I mean, I don’t fucking know, but probably not.” His words came out light and relaxed. Yuri shifted to lie on his side, his body in the direction of Otabek’s. He had one arm over his head, bent around the jacket, shielding it like a fence. It was hard not to do the same, to keep only seeing him with the side of his eye. “Chill, Altin.”_

_“Mm?”_

_“You’re overthinking already, aren’t you?”_

_“24/7, but what do you mean exactly?”_

_“The hag broke the mood for a second and you closed yourself off again.”_

Oh, so he was trying to break the ice with the star thing. _Otabek shifted to his side as well, because Yuri was such a sweetheart. He had one arm under his head and one palm on the grass, nervously digging shallow holes on the dirt with the tip of his index finger._

     _“I was just trying to give you space.”_

_“Really? We’re alone on the edge of a cliff past-midnight, Otabek.”_

_“True. But I still listened to your conversation.”_

_The blonde furrowed his brows. “Duh? I was having it next to you.”_

_“Still.” Otabek replied, but then he started feeling silly. “Sorry.” It didn’t change that he already knew too much, though. “But still.”_

_It made the Kazakh flinch when the blonde reached out to pinch his nose._

_“Don’t say ‘sorry’, stupid.” He said.  “I just meant that you don’t have to worry about me getting my panties on a twist because of things like that. There’s very little that I’m sensitive about, so you can just chill. And, if you don’t ask me, I’ll just tell you ‘cause I’m overbearing like that.”_

_Otabek could offer an ocean of adjectives to describe Yuri that countered that one. He could also think about what were those few things that he was sensitive about. He’d try to ignore both urges for the time being._

_“I’m listening.”_

_The green eyes in front of his suddenly lit up, like the sky had rotated and was now horizontal to the earth. A little lonesome star in the dark._

_“So Mila.” He started._

_As both of them lay, the blonde told the Kazakh about a boyfriend-turned-stalker that Yuri’s cousin had had the year before. Yuri spoke about him with disgust, reacting to his name like squeezing lemon in his own mouth. “Stuck-up Ronald”, Ronny, as Mila called him. Older, Stanford graduate, squash player. The description seemed like the opposite of Mila, and Yuri confirmed that it was. She had been cheated on before and, as the teen said, was easy prey. He hadn’t threatened her life, but had harassed her in every way and followed her a number of times before her father took the matters to Ronald’s father, who sent him away to London. Apparently, he had family there and his father wanted to keep him out of jail. And not killed by the Russian Mafia._

_“She’s still afraid of men.” Yuri shared. “But she’s too much of an extrovert to stay put, so she keeps dragging me to parties and making me pretend that we’re a thing.”_

_“Don’t people know you’re cousins?”_

_“Nah, we have different last names and her parents have done everything possible to detach themselves from the family.”_

_Maybe it was because of the Dietrich scandal. Otabek wouldn’t press on it, though._

_“How long do you think you can keep that up?”_

_“Oh, fuck no, I’m done. Not a second longer. I’m not even into women, let alone that hag.”_

_Yuri was so visibly annoyed, it made Otabek chuckle. “Why exactly were you doing it?”_

_He sighed. “The first time she tried going out again I was just there for moral support and she froze up when a dude came on to her.” Yuri sounded somewhat sad. He cared about her. A lot. “The next time we went out, she asked me to make out with her to keep guys away and I told the incestuous bitch to shove it.”_

_Otabek could imagine Yuri with that same annoyed expression from before. The scene came out perfect in his head. “Shove it, you incestuous bitch.”, he said in Beka's little imaginary dialogue. Otabek laughed. And Leo had thought that they were dating. How wild was that?_

_“But she convinced me.” The blonde continued. Otabek lifted his brows, asking how. “I just had to beat her face with bubblegum lipbalm.”_

* * *

 

 

“Yuri and I went to the Hollywood sign. Him, me, on a Harley, just like I promised you on the phone, changing the destination to one that was calm and windy, high up the hills. We talked for three hours. About school and inspiration, and the Altin’s coming to town. I told him everything – from my first kiss to homophobia. I told him everything. Yuri got angry for me, and he made me laugh. Most of all, he listened. He didn’t try to cheer me up; he told me a different version of “That fucking sucks” and got closer to me every time.

               I love him. I can’t cry - I’m still all riled up with anxiety -, but I don’t know how to go back to being a loner—sorry, not there yet.”

 

* * *

 

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

_**Mayday Parade – Jersey** _

_**|YURI’S PICK |** _

_Jersey just got colder and_  
_I'll have you know I'm scared to death_  
_That everything that you had said to me was just_  
_A lie until you left_  
_Now I'm hoping just a little bit stronger_  
_Hold me up just a little bit longer_  
_I'll be fine, I swear_  
_I'm just gone beyond repair_

 

 

 

_“What about you?” Yuri asked, with those curious green eyes._

_“What about me?”_

_“What are you into?”_

_Otabek understood what he meant. The blonde had been telling him about meaningless one-night-stands and kissing his cousin’s bubblegum lips. The Kazakh used to have occasional sexual encounters. It wasn’t like he was particularly interested in having sex per-se, it was more of a form of distraction that came as a part of borderline personality disorder. He didn’t go out to fuck people, he went out for the rush._

_“Not much, to be honest. It’s difficult for me to be attracted to people since, you know, they kinda terrify me.”_

_“Never?”_

_No, not ‘never’. Wasn’t Yuri right next to him?_

_“Well, it’s not like I’m a virgin, but I only managed to have some sort of relationship in high school.”_

_The blonde was lying on his stomach, his cheek pressed against the jacket. Listening. He always expected Otabek to elaborate and it was hard to disappoint him._

_“He, um, was one of my bandmates. I mean, became one. I met him when I changed schools after I left my family’s house and everything. I was already kind of fucked up in the head and didn’t want to engage with anyone, but he was a bubbly guy who took an interest in me and followed me everywhere.”_

_Yuri buried his hands underneath the jacket._

_“Are you cold?” Otabek asked._

_“Sorta.” He admitted, then he sat up and started dusting off the jacket. The Kazakh thought that he was going to put it back on, but Yuri took Otabek’s hand. “You mind?” It was rhetorical. The blonde was already pulling it to spread Beka’s arm to the side. “Tell me when it starts going numb.”_

_Then there it was, Yuri’s head on Otabek’s arm. The Russian teen covered himself to the neck with the jacket and looked at the Kazakh again, waiting for him to go on._

Wow.

_He didn’t know that there was a certain amount of weight that was supposed to be on his arm at all times._

_Why did Jamie have to be the subject when this was perfect to…  Kiss._

_Otabek cleared his throat._

_“Anyway, he was a nice person and all, his parents were divorcing, so I think he related to the way that I was, but couldn’t really show it, and that was why he insisted on me. I realized that he’d been crying one of the times that he was pretending to be all happy-go-lucky and I asked him about it. That was really all it took for him to tell me everything. Then his mother brought home the guy who she’d been having an affair with and Jamie practically started living with me. That was when he taught me how to play guitar, and when we hooked up.”_

_“Was he your first guy?”_

_“Uh-huh. My first time, too.”_

_“How long were you together?”_

_Otabek had to think for a second. “Five, six months? Not long.”_

_“How did it end?”_

_“Um…” He couldn’t remember exactly. “I don’t think much about it anymore, so it’s very distant, but I know that there was a point where it became very clear to me that what he liked about us being together was the satisfaction that someone like me, as antisocial as they come, went along with whatever he said. So I stopped going to the parties he wanted me to, and I stopped getting high in the dressing room, and I stopped letting people I didn’t know into my house. Then he met some older guy and moved in with him instead.”_

_“Were you sad about it?”_

_There was a touch of innocence in the way that Yuri spoke._

_“Nah, I was already tired of it at that point.”_

_The view of the night-sky shifted to beautiful, melancholic eyes when Yuri reached out to touch Otabek’s jaw and make the Kazakh turn his head to look at him. He was analyzing if he had told the truth._

_It was perfect to kiss. Beka hadn’t, up until that point, even considered it. He didn’t kiss first. He had never._

_“Did you miss being alone?” Yuri asked him, shifting to lie on his side._

_Otabek did the same. It was better to just stare straight into his eyes at once then have Yuri touch him like that. It was dangerous._

_“Honestly?” The Kazakh asked, and he nodded. Otabek could feel the blonde hair scratch the skin of his arm. “Yeah.”_

  _There was a tiny piece of grass on Yuri’s hair and the urge to take it out was safer than the one to brush his cheek. So Otabek made to, and Yuri flinched. The Kazakh explained it to him and Yuri just took it out himself. He was too nervous, too suddenly. There was something very wrong there and Beka couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, so he asked if Yuri wanted to go home. They were both sleepy anyway. So the blonde sat up and put the jacket back on._

 

 _Let's write a song that we can sing to_  
_And you can lead the choir_  
_And put the hook where it hurts most_  
_And you threw a spark that lit the candle_  
_That set us all on fire_  
_And sent a flame down the east coast_

 

* * *

 

             “It was almost 4 A.M when we decided to come back. We were both tired and out of water. I still had to ride and my eyes were sliding shut against my will when I got on the bike. Then, Yuri clutched my chin and leaned down so close that I could feel his breathing. ‘You just bought her, let’s not wreck her on the way back, alright?’, he said. I thought that he was going to kiss me. When he got on behind me, he said ‘I’m trusting you, Altin’, and I was still thinking that I’d thought that he was going to kiss me. I wondered if he would when I dropped him off. And I was scared that, if he didn’t, I would.

             I guess I’ve already spoiled this part for you, but here it goes. (I had it coming, though)”

 

* * *

 

          _When they stopped in front of Yuri’s building, there were people still/already at the park, probably students sneaking out of their dorms. California was inconveniently lively at all times. It was safer like that, though, to bring the teen home so late at night/early in the morning. The blonde quickly got on his feet beside Otabek, who was still on the bike. It seemed like he was having trouble unclasping his helmet, so Otabek got down to help him. Yuri was really sleepy and his eyes looked tiny, it seemed like he had slept on the way back, holding onto Otabek like a teddy bear. The Kazakh had been blessed to see many beautiful sights during that night. Yuri allowed him to help because he seemed to still be snoozing._

_“I think some of your hair got stuck.” Otabek said._

_“Oh.” Yuri instantly exclaimed, grabbing the clasp and tearing the strands apart to open it again._

_Otabek really felt sorry for them._

_“Sorry it’s all gross now,” The blonde finally got rid of the helmet, he gave it to Beka, who hung it on the hand grip. Then he was ruffling his locks again, unflattening it. “I don’t brush my hair, so there’s all these knots, it’s a fucking mess.”_

_“It’s not gross.” Otabek stated. “Not messy either.”_

_The blonde showed him a tired smile, taking off the jacket. “You’re kidding me? Having hair this long is a goddamn piece of work, I’ll just cut it again.”_

_“You used to have it longer, though.”_

_If anyone sitting at park had turned their heads to look, even them would’ve been able to tell the exact moment when Yuri’s body turned to stone. He had the jacket in his hands, in front of him, he was about to hand it over and he stopped. And Otabek realized it. His brain started thinking of ways of going around it, but that was involuntary – he wasn’t going to lie. Still, it was disastrous how it had come to light. The teen still had his head down._

_“How the fuck do you know that?” He asked, low, through gritted teeth._

_Otabek was scared. He was so afraid. It was like he was being held at gunpoint._

_“This is the longest I’ve had my hair since I was twelve.” Yuri started, his voice getting louder throughout. “How the fuck do you know that?!”_

_He looked up. His eyes were furious. Did he feel betrayed? Otabek wondered. He did, he could see disappointment deep inside. Yuri was sleeping soundly not ten minutes before and now he had to deal with a blow to his trust. Why didn’t he tell him sooner? Since the very beginning. It all seemed so pointless now._

_“I’ve seen it.” Beka replied. His voice was steady and cold, it showed no truth at all._

_Yuri’s breathing was getting erratic and he was huffing through his nose. There was a crease between his brows that didn’t belong there. He shouldn’t be feeling like that, he should’ve been able to go to bed and back to sleep._

_“How long have you known me?!”_

_Otabek swallowed. Inside of his head, he was telling that boy so many apologetic ‘I love you’s. They made no sense._

_“Eight years.” Eight long, most inspiring years._

_The way that his eyes grew wider, the way that that had woken him up, how he was so violently smashing the jacket into a ball in his hands. It sent Otabek back into a limbo. He was dissociating again._

_Then, Yuri threw it at him. As reflex, Otabek held it against his chest._

_**“Damn you!"** The blonde shouted. He had never heard his voice so charged before. “Was it funny to you that I was trying to hide it?! God damn it, Otabek.” Yuri rubbed his eyes with palms, then dragged them to pull his hair back. _

I’m sorry to wake you. 

_He couldn’t say anything._

I thought I had a reason before.

    _He couldn’t say anything._

_So he stood there. Caught and gone at the same time._

_“You know what?! Fuck this shit.” The blonde exclaimed, burying his hands in his back pockets. The thought that crossed Otabek’s head was the realization that Yuri did it when he was defensive. Useless, voiceless thoughts._ _“Thanks for the ride, you fucking asshole. Go to hell.”_

 

* * *

 

 

“Just like that, he turned around. I watched him go inside and I wished that I’d magically get the nerve to open my mouth or that I would come up with something to say. Something that he’d like to hear, not just my whims. Well, you know me, that didn’t happen. Instead, I rode back on a speed that I hoped could cut a hole through time.

          That was yesterday. I haven’t left the house yet. I’ve eaten, though, don’t worry. Thanks for reading this far. Anyway, I’ll see you on Saturday, I guess. I’m excited to meet Reina. Let me know if you need anything.

(Sorry again.)"

 

 

**⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐**

Well, two thumbs up we give this one, despite its predictable ending  
The dialogue seemed rushed and wrong  
But the actors did their best  
To lay some worth on every word like coffins dropped into the earth  
The saddest sound we ever heard

 

 

  


	12. em·pa·thy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm here as promised!  
> I'm letting you know that there are links in this chapter, so check the underlined words, if you're interested in contemporary dance.  
> Also, [here's ](https://no-straightlines.tumblr.com/post/179565702941/beka-21-and-yura-19-from-waste-of-paint-i) art inspired by this fic (as promised as well) ♡

 

* * *

 

 

     Otabek remembered it faintly, Phichit trying to wake him up in the morning. His housemate was late himself, so he trusted that the Kazakh would get up. He didn’t. It was almost noon when Beka pulled himself out of bed and went to the kitchen to make some coffee. As predicted, he didn’t feel like a person. The thought of going out and doing “things” – he didn’t even need to specify them – was physically impossible. Absurd, even. His body laughed at his mind when it told Otabek that he had responsibilities. Many of them. The next article that he had to translate and turn in was the only possible task that he would complete that day, because it was somewhat of a distraction.

      It was like the falling-out with Yuri had signaled the stagnation of the course of his life. See, Otabek thought he’d been laid out from birth to be alone. He was fine with it, almost relieved. But Yuri… There was only one person who could make him wonder about it, if solitude was really the way to go. It had turned out that maybe it was. It’d still be, no matter what. Because he couldn’t deal with people and the way people conflicted each other. He had a natural dissociation response to being yelled at since long before, since coming home with B’s and being slapped in the face by his mother, or defending Dahlia and being shouted at curses. Funny, Yuri had told him – and Otabek was aware that that was just an expression to the teen, he meant none of it – to “go to hell”. His father had predicted his burning there and reverberated it like gospel in a church inside his childhood home.

      He couldn’t understand how Dahlia could stand it. Of course, she was stronger, but how did she do it? Was there something else, tighter screws in her brain? Was he just broken?

      Like a doll, manufactured to repeat “sorry” and “sorry” again, not being able to let the sound out, no matter how many times the child pushed its button. It was all the child needed and the doll was of no use.

      Toast. Yeah. He was going to make toast.

      Music. Not music to lick his wounds, music to keep him aware of where he stood.

      Yuri. Good thing he hadn’t seen Yuri. Yuri wasn’t coming for Spring Break anymore.

      _“I’ll come over. We’ll watch Tokyo Ghoul. Fuck your parents.”_ He spoke too easily. It was lovely.

 

**⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐**

**Brand New - You Won't Know**

So pray, little Kay, love's God on a good day.

And you can't blame your mother,

She's trying not to see you as her worst mistake

And I wish that I could tell you right now, that I love you

But it looks like I won't be around

So you won't know

 

Yuuri came in not long after the toaster rang. He was in his dance clothes and there was sweat dripping from his hair. He’d been practicing and he’d come home by bus – those were two obvious conclusions. Beka was about to be nagged no matter how exhausted that person was, and it was exactly what happened right after Yuuri locked the door and threw his bag on the floor. _Wow, he must be really tired._ Katsuki was usually perfectly tidy.

    “You missed class.” He stated, in Japanese, judging even the toast that Otabek had in hand.

    He didn’t see a need to reply since it hadn’t been a question, so he slightly nodded and started eating. Yuuri sat on the other side of the counter, in front of him.

    “Wanna talk about it?” He asked.

    So he knew. The Kazakh did glance at his friend, but he waited for Yuuri to continue. Because he would. Oh, he would not let it go.

    “Is it your parents coming? Is it Yurio?”

    So he _didn’t_ know, even though both suppositions were right. Yes, his parents coming to town on Friday was a hand around his neck and Otabek knew, the closer that it got, that that hand would squeeze his throat so hard it would leave him voiceless for weeks. The metaphor didn’t only present itself as such, he felt a little scratch whenever he swallowed, so, as usual, he would get sick. Beka didn’t know why or how it happened, but, whenever he hit a peak of stress, his immune system turned to shit.

     Good thing Yuri wouldn’t have to see that either. Right on time.

     Otabek shook his head. “I pulled an all-nighter.”

      Yuuri poured himself some coffee. “Did you guys drink until morning again? I thought those practices were over in this household.”

      He huffed. _Right, the booze fest from hell._ Otabek had forgotten about it. Phichit spent most of his free time in his mother’s house, since he worried about her health, and Leo… Well. They hadn’t spoken since the day Viktor had found out about his feelings for Yuri. The day him and Yuri had lunch and talked about school and the “why's” and “how's” of things, as they usually did. The day when Otabek fell in love. Him and Leo hadn’t spoken since.

      “Don’t worry, Peach went to bed early and I think Leo didn’t come home last night either.”

      Yuuri had spent the weekend at Viktor’s, too. So Otabek wondered what had happened when Yuri got home. If they were awake, if they had woken up, if the teen’s angry stomps had pulled them out of sweet dreams. Maybe Yuri had made an effort to get in quietly. Maybe he’d just gotten into bed and slept the rest of the morning. Otabek didn’t know anything anymore. He’d gotten too used to texts throughout the day. A period of abstinence was coming. _Ah, this sucks._

“You’ll tell me you missed all of your morning lectures because you were sleepy?” Katsuki ironized. He’d been through situations like that too many times with Otabek.

      “I won’t lie, that’s for sure.”

      “Your parents?”

      “Sort of. Can’t deny.”

      “But that’s not the main problem this time, right?”

      “Nope.”

      “Yuri?”

     Was there a right way to spread butter on toast? He nodded, slightly, again, pretending that pouring more coffee was too much of a distracting job to look at his friend. “I made him mad.”

      Yuuri furrowed his brows. It was a weird reaction, since it shouldn’t be that strange that Otabek had made people that barely even knew him mad, or for Katsuki to be surprised that Yuri got angry, since the man himself came back weeping every time they met. Otabek didn’t understand what was so odd about it.

      “What happened?” He asked.

      Beka sipped his coffee. “Slip of the tongue. He figured it out… You know, about me.”

      The pity in Yuuri’s eyes. He always showed it, every time something bad happened. Couldn’t they just keep eating?

      “Kin-kun…” He whimpered. And he was about to say something when his phone rang. It was Viktor. “Wow, this man is ruthless. I’d die for him, but he might kill me himself.”

          Viktor did seem like the type of choreographer that would push his dancer to his limits. It all sounded very lovey-dovey for them to have been spending so much time together after making their relationship official, but Otabek was positive that they spent most hours of the day as teacher and student. Yuuri had said something about it before, how his boyfriend wanted him to leave dancing on a pedestal, not a tiny bit unsure of his abilities. Katsuki wanted to go back to Hasetsu. He couldn’t stand that Mari was there alone anymore, and he felt somewhat guilty that his love life was progressing while his sister had to take care of the olsen all by herself. After the Spring Festival, he would tell Viktor that he was going to finish the next two years of university, but, after that, he’d be done with it. At least, for a while. If Yuuri were to become a choreographer as well, that’d have to wait until the olsen didn’t need either of them.

        Otabek took the chance to wash his plate and cup. Didn’t Yuuri realize that he could still hear everything even though he'd moved to the corner of the living room? The tap water wasn’t that loud.

        “Can we take today off instead of tomorrow?” The Japanese man asked.

        Yuuri was very responsible. Otabek couldn’t imagine having to ask someone else if he could take a day off or not. Translating usually had a very large time limit, it’d never been a problem. On that note, he was going to his bedroom. He needed to work.

        “I don’t feel good leaving Kin home alone.”/ “Yurio’s missed too?”/ “They might be upset about the same thing.” / “What do you mean you know?” / “And you didn’t think to tell me?!” / “Who cares about rehearsals?!” / “Viktor, you’re not just my professor anymore, you’re my boyfriend.” / “Of course I’d get concerned! He’s like my family!” / “I know Yurio’s your family too.” / “So let’s just help the kids out, okay?” / “I don’t know, I’d have to ask him.” / “Alright, I’ll let you know” / “I’m not mad, I just wish you’d told me.” / “I know that, too.” / “Okay.” / “Yeah, still love you. Silly.” / “Bye.”

       It’d still been too easy to eavesdrop, especially after he heard Yuri’s name and stopped in front of his bedroom door to purposely do so. He wouldn’t have seen Yuri if he had gone to school. The blonde would probably not miss again, so Otabek would stay home. He couldn’t see Yuri. He was afraid of being looked at the same way that he’d been the last time. Beka got inside when he heard Katsuki calling out his name. He didn’t shut the door behind him for the sound not to give him away.

        “Viktor wants to know if he can come over to talk.”

        “I’m not a good talker.” Otabek replied.

        “I think he just wants to help you understand Yurio.” Yuuri said, turning to the drawing taped onto the wall. “I’ve known about his family for a while now.”

        Otabek glanced at the man as he stood by his side, clutching the back of his chair, looking at the same picture. Beka missed the blood on his lip. It was real, the way that it stung.

        “Vitya didn’t mean to tell me, he was drunk and he told me his entire life the first time we went out. He looks composed, but he can’t hold his liquor either.”

       Yuuri’s voice was no more than breath of fresh air when he spoke about his professor. It was a mesmerizing thing, the way that they had fallen in love. It had changed Yuuri.

       “I had to tell him that I knew everything before Yurio’s birthday, because Viktor had this whole speech prepared before I met his family. There were things that he still wasn’t going to soberly tell me because those were Yuri’s things, but now I feel like a part of it. I wanna help him.” Katsuki turned his head to Otabek and he could swear that he was teary-eyed. “I wanna help you too, Kin. And I wanna help you and Yuri help each other.”

       Yuuri couldn’t get through it without straight up crying. But he wasn’t sobbing like he did when he panicked, when he loathed himself. He was hurting. Otabek would never get used to the fact that people needed to hurt so badly that they bled through their eyes.

       Katsuki dried his eyes with his hand. “Yuri needs you, Kin.”

       _He doesn’t._

 “Womite.” _Look at me._ And Yuuri’s hands were on each of his cheeks. Then, he looked more accurate. Taller, older, kinder, warmer. “I know that you don’t find yourself deserving of him. I know that you hate yourself more the closer your parents get. I know you’re trying to bottle the fact that you’re scared of losing a connection you’ve been yearning for for years and years. I know it all too well, because we’re so alike, right? You say it yourself.”

        Undeserving. Scared. Alike. Words that turned into needles going in his bubble, poking it, bursting it; water blessed with dish detergent everywhere, splashing and burning eyeballs all around.

        “There’s a lot that you don’t know and I know that that’s scary, but I promise you, Kin, I _promise_ you, if there’s anyone who could love Yuri right, that person is you. There isn’t anyone worthier.”

        “Yuuri, I don’t see how that’s--”

       And with a push, Katsuki had his hands on Otabek’s shoulders. Such an inherently Japanese form of expression. Then he looked at the Kazakh with those determined eyes.

       “Anata wa kyōkan no kawadesu.”

      _You’re a river of empathy._ What a Japanese thing to say. In translation, it sounded cheesy, a line from a bad life-coach. In Yuuri’s language, it was like an ancient proverb. Otabek wasn’t anything as fancy as that. But it seemed like his friend really wanted to get his message through, so the Kazakh gave the back of his hands light little taps.

       “Thanks.” He said, trying to sound believable. “I’ll talk to Viktor, if he wants.”

       Katsuki nodded, gave Otabek’s hair a little ruffle and left sighing. It’d been hard for him to put himself out there, even if it were only Beka. He was a great person, quirks and all

 

 

* * *

 

    

         Viktor brought two pizzas and Coke. Otabek thought that they were going to sit down in the living room and chat as they ate, but Yuuri invited them to his bedroom. He was making all kinds of exceptions that day. Katsuki hated crumbs on his bed. Since his boyfriend had been there before, Beka already knew that the posters of Viktor Nikiforov didn’t cover the walls anymore, but it was still an amusing thought. Especially considering that he had taken Yuri’s drawing down and placed it safely in an envelope. It needed framing. It was all he had of Yuri and it needed to last. It shouldn’t just be there, displayed in a blank room to be covered in dust and for everyone to look at.

       No. It was special.

       Leo and Phichit arrived together, just as soon as the other men got inside the Japanese man’s bedroom - they hadn’t even had the time to close the door. They’d come with groceries and were going to make dinner when Yuuri told them that there was enough pizza for everyone. The American man caught eyes with Otabek as he passed on the way to his own bedroom. The Kazakh was standing against the wall on the other side of the door. Leo was still awkward. Otabek didn’t even think about it anymore. It’d been a dick move, but he wasn’t the type to hold those kinds of grudges. It also seemed that Leo was finally realizing that he had absolutely no sense of boundaries.

      “Hey.” He said, airy, fist going up and down the strap of his backpack.

      “Hey.” Otabek repeated, casually.

      “We kind of need to talk in private, but, here, take one.” Yuuri said, taking one of the pizza boxes to the man at the door.

      “Oh, right. Thanks!” Leo smiled and turned his head to find Viktor on the bed. “Professor! Hi, um, good to see you again.”

      Viktor showed him a face. It didn’t seem like he was still angry, just being a bully. _Well-deserved._

      “About that time, I’d just like to say again that I’m sorry, I only ran my mouth because I knew Yuuri here wouldn’t take me seriously.” It made it even more awkward the way that he said it, switching glances with both Viktor and Otabek. “Otabek is the most protective of your neph-“

      “I think that about covers it, man, thanks.” Otabek interrupted. He had to stay locked inside that bedroom, he couldn’t be embarrassed anymore than he already was.

      “So am I.” Viktor told him, with a cynical grin on his face. “I’m the utmost protective of my nephew, hope you know.”  

      Phichit came in, sensing the atmosphere from wherever he’d been, greeting everyone while forcing a thicker Thai accent, hugging each man in the room. He was the one who rushed Leo out, saying that he was starving. They left together and then there was Otabek, his housemate and his crush’s uncle. Oh, and the pizza. Yuuri invited Otabek to eat on the bed, but like hell he would, so he took a piece and sat at the Japanese men’s desk chair. (He did turn it to face the other men, of course)

       On the bed, the couple exchanged casual words about the pizza and the friends and the weather that night. Otabek wasn’t paying attention. It tasted good enough. Probably way too much tomato sauce, though. Viktor had his back against the wall and Yuuri had half of his on Viktor’s chest. It’d become natural for them. _Good, good._ The professor must’ve longed for that since they’d met.

      “Here, take another.” Yuuri handed the piece to him on a napkin.

      “How are you feeling, Otabek?” Viktor asked, nudging his chin on Yuuri’s hair.

      He missed the short couple of days he had managed to feel nothing, because it was all going downhill since the talk with Katsuki. Beka had barely been able to think straight to work, but he had sent the translated article in record time. He needed it finished, in case things got worse. And he was going to get sick, he just knew it.

      “Kind of sorry, actually.” He replied, honestly. “You’d told me to tell him the truth.”

      Viktor dismissed it kindly.

      “I know things aren’t that simple.”

      Were they all that hard, though?

      “I should have, anyway.”

      “It wouldn’t have made a difference.” Viktor told him, putting his cup on the bedside table. “The problem isn’t that you didn’t tell him you knew, it’s just that you knew. And it’s not even a problem, just something you oughtta get through.”

     Otabek tried to nod and sip his drink, but he didn’t understand at all.

     “He was mad at me too, you know?” Viktor continued, trying to make it sound like a funny story “He barged into my room; I had this sweet little angel naked next to me, so he just stormed out again.”

     Yuuri obviously turned bright red. It seemed like the natural cycle of their interactions. It made him embarrassed, so he stuffed his mouth with pizza.

    “I went after him and he was livid. He was like ‘Does your boyfriend know too?!”. And I had to tell him that he did, and even more than you do, even though I hadn’t meant to tell.”

      He kept being disappointed.

     “He hasn’t come home.” Viktor said and it alarmed Otabek. “It’s alright, I know that he’s at my sister’s. But, still, there’s no life in that apartment without him.”

     He kept being sent away.

     “But I know that, when it comes to you, he is just ashamed and afraid. Yuri likes you a lot.”

     “I tell him that all the time. He doesn’t believe me.” Yuuri said, adjusting to cross his legs and sit straight.

     That seemed to give Viktor the cue to walk around the bed and sit on its corner, right in front of Otabek. Even if he were to sit there and say those things straight in his eye, Beka wouldn’t believe it. It was too much. Those kinds of things didn’t happen. But he wanted to hear stories about Yuri that didn’t involve him, he wanted to know more. The short period of time that he had spent feeling nothing was floating further and further away. It bothered him that Yuri was upset. It worried him that Yuri had felt the need to leave his home. It pained him that he might be “ashamed and afraid”, those were such paralyzing things to be. But Otabek didn’t really know how Yuri handled them, so it could be different for him. _Different_ , but he couldn’t fathom it being _better_.

      “The Yuri that you saw on TV eight years ago is still stuck there, in that courtroom.”

     Going from feeling nothing to overwhelming sadness. What weak, fascinating creatures humans were. Yuri, holding on tightly to his waist. Yuri, pointing at stars. Yuri, drying his sweat with white pieces of cloth. Him, buying snow cones in the morning, drawing easily on a park bench, introducing a crowd to a show of flames and rage. Black, winged eye-liner. Two to three brushes in his back pocket. Hair longer on one side.

       _Stuck_. In that courtroom.

       Freedom was too easy to use as a disguise.

      “His life changed after that. The kids at school that used to follow him around started repeating what they heard at home. It went from 'your father’s a thief, your father’s a liar' to 'you’re a thief, you’re a liar'. He became no one else other than his father’s son. Even for our family, they still care more about Mikhael. For a long time, Yuri had no one who'd look at him as who he was.”

     Otabek wanted to look at Viktor, but his perspective only showed him the man’s crisscrossed fingers between his knees and the dark-brown shoes that he was wearing. There was an image of Yuri in his head, his smiling face - his brain showed him someone who should be _seen_.

      “There were two major events that happened not long after the trial, and it’s not my place to tell you the stories. Also, I’m not drunk” He forced a little giggle. “But I know he wants to open up, I mean, I don’t get 'it’s none of your business' texts anymore when I ask him where he is, he’s, like, 'I’m with Beka', and I get what he’s trying to say, you know? He’s telling me that he’s trying, that I shouldn’t worry so much.”

     “I let him down.” Otabek murmured to himself.

     “That’s not it.” Viktor replied with certainty. “He’s scared that the image that you have of him is wrong, so he’ll try to leave first, it’s just his way of protecting himself.”

     “I do that a lot.” Both leaving first and letting people down.

     “Kin-kun.” Yuuri said, and he moved to sit next to Viktor on the corner. Otabek looked at him. He must look dead. “For what I know, you keep walls around you because you don’t trust you won’t be hurt anymore. You’re someone who’s been wounded and doesn’t want to be wounded again. Yurio _is_ wounded. He goes through life with an open wound, and he thinks that he’s in no shape to handle more, so he tries to scare people away.”

       “It’s true, he puts up a front—“

       “I know.”

       Of course, he knew. He knew a lot now. Yuri wasn’t the kid on the stand. He was sweet and he was childish, he was self-assured, and honest (when he thought it was safe). Yuri didn’t like birthdays, he hated the convention of it all. His uncle cooked for him and he had a burn scar on the back of his shoulder. Yuri had a red-headed cousin whose bubblegum lips he kissed, whose sister was in Europe for exchange.

       He could’ve gone to Kyoto.

      There was more that he hid within him other than his family’s history. But there was also more to him than that and the two other stories that Otabek was still to be told. He was so much more than his father’s son.

      “I know the depth of who Yuri is, I mean, hell--“ _I love him_. “I may not know the why’s and the how’s, but I know that he’s grown up, he’s not that boy, and I can tell that there are times when he drifts further from me.” Otabek got up, he was feeling suffocated. He crossed his arms on his  chest and started pacing. “It’s me, though, who freezes at the sight of conflict. It scares me to death to try and apologize to him and have him look at me the same way that he did when he—I mean, it’s not his fault and he had every right to be angry, it’s just me—“

       Viktor looked so confused. Damn it, he was talking too much. Did he need to talk that much? Yuuri looked at him as a way of getting permission to explain. Otabek nodded, granting it. _Well, fuck._

       “Kin has a hard time with social interactions, but especially being yelled at, he dissociates.”

       _What a fucking loser._

 “Oh.” Viktor let out. “Was there a reason it started happening?”

       It sounded like every therapist he’d even been to. Yuuri looked at him the same way. Otabek granted him permission again.

       “His parents could be called abusive.”

       “Oh. **Oh!** ” The second one was different from before. He seemed excited about it. “I’m sorry, is it too bad that I’m glad to know? It’s like you and me, darling, how our traumas fit together.”

      Viktor was a refreshing person to be around. He’d turned it into a good thing.

       “Otabek!” He got up and was suddenly standing in front of the Kazakh. He had a grin on his face. “Don’t you worry! You’ll make up, I’m sure of it.”

       “Vitya, personal space.” Yuuri reminded him.

       _Thank you._

“Sorry.” He took a step back. “And sorry that I got carried away. It’s just that, it’s because Yuuri and I have been through pain – different kinds of pain, yes, but pain nonetheless – that we are able to make each other happy. Someone who’s never suffered can’t empathize with those who have. So I’m a little calmer, now, that Yuri has you. The same logic goes to him, though, so give it time. He’ll understand you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

     Otabek went to university on Tuesday, as cowardly as it’d been: getting there on time, not sitting at the park, just going straight into his lectures, then straight out, straight home. It’d been a good thing to normalize his relationship with Leo. They were back on good terms and listening to whole albums as their professor spoke. He’d been almost right about having to sing soon. The professor had thrown hints at it, and it wouldn’t be an assignment, just an indie festival of which he was a producer. What would count for their grade would be a song, fully created and finished by two to four students. Otabek would write the lyrics and arrangement, Leo would be responsible for recording and post-production. It was only for the end of the semester, though, so there was still time to find some kind of inspiration.

      Where he’d find it now, he didn’t know.

      It was a given that he had to apologize to Yuri. He was thinking about sending him a text because calling was a huge no-no. It sounded childish in his head, though, but easier for Yuri to just ignore if he wished to. Easier for Otabek to react to if he didn’t. On Wednesday, however, the Kazakh was finally, officially, sick in bed. It was nothing more than his body giving in to the mental and emotional strain. His throat was dry from forgetting to hydrate himself and his body was feverish so he could feel cold. He was not getting up. If it was an excuse that he was looking for to play dead, there he had it. 

      Also, the Spring Festival would take place the next day and Otabek could not miss it. Yuuri had been working hard and he had be there to support him no matter how dreadful it was to stand in a crowd, because, fuck, were those crowded. They’d gone all together the year before - Yuuri worked only as an assistant, so he ran errands the whole day of the festival and helped the goers find seats, gave them the program and did small jobs like that. He looked fascinated by what was going on the stage.

       _Full-circle_. What a satisfying concept.

       And Viktor had [performed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4uAU2RVIFuE) that night - wearing only black jeans and a belt - a contemporary solo that amazed even Otabek whose appreciation for dancing had only developed due to his cohabitation with a dancer. Nevertheless, what had gotten him into it was that the professor’s movements were abstract Capoeira and, given the way that he was barefoot and casual. How the stage was almost empty, like he had wandered off and found solace; some quiet hut by the beach, captivated by the sun and the heat of South-America. Somewhere far away from where he belonged. It was an inherently Brazilian dance style and Otabek got more than he bargained for by facing the cult of shadows that, to him, were crowds.

       Katsuki had broken the performance down to him after, but Otabek had since forgotten the technical terms. It’d been quite something, though. He hadn’t seen the perfomer’s nephew there, but Yuuri told him that he was in the front row. Otabek couldn’t have imagined that he’d be avoiding the same teen one year later. In his heart of hearts, that wasn’t what he was doing. Maybe if there wasn’t any more damage done to it, he thought that he could maintain it – whatever “it” was. At least, _some_ thing. Anything.

The conflict had also happened in the worst of times. His parents were coming and that was a punch to his stomach on its own. If he set himself up to another blow, like reaching out to Yuri, wouldn’t he just end up coughing out blood? The way that Katsuki had described them, as the animal that’d been wounded and the animal that _was_ , it'd broken a piece out of the circle. There’d never be a time when they’d run towards each other because the wounded animal would not let the healing one near – it didn’t trust it. And the healing animal was too scared to get close – it didn’t trust it. “It”, whatever it was. Whoever. There was a wall there and, if they were to run towards each other, they’d hit it. The wall that “it” was.

      The thought was so impossibly disheartening that it got Otabek to pull the covers over his head.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

      Yuuri did tell him that he could stay, but Otabek decided to throw on a hoodie and leave, even though he hadn’t turned on the AC since the day before and that was an undeniable sign that he had a fever. Phichit was the one who knocked on his door a few times a day, coming home between his commitments to check up on him and bring him food. The Thai man had given him a bottle of numbing spray for his throat that was beginning to sore from coughing while dry. It’d only taken Otabek a few hours to get addicted to it. He didn’t know bad overdosing on it was, but it helped a lot, gave him something to do and tasted like mints and honey. He’d been comparing things to smoking quite often.

       Leo had just decided to stay at university and wait out there for the festival to begin. Yuuri had also gone quite early and straight from Viktor’s house, that was closest. So Beka and Phichit Uber’d there, even though the Kazakh had insisted that he didn’t mind taking the bus. His coughs didn’t help holding up the statement, though. Among the men that lived with him, Peach was the one Otabek was the most distant from, simply because they didn’t have a lot in common. Katsuki’s personality matched the Kazakh’s and the American man’s interest in music got them closer together. Phichit, however, was a social butterfly, a working dancer, someone who was all smiles and called him casually to talk, sometimes, when he spent too long away. A very genuine person. Also, to be a true member of their household, “of the sexually confused and sexually confusing”, he was polyamory, which wasn’t at all confusing to him, just to society in general. He was dating two people then, another dancer from his studio, who he’d been going out with for a few years – Otabek couldn’t remember how long exactly, it was hard to keep up -, a woman named Layla, who’d been born in the Philippines. And he’d just started going out with Carter, who was gender fluid. Peach had met them when his mother was at the hospital and they were working as an assistant nurse. Otabek was yet to meet Carter. Layla had come over and they’d gone out to eat all together many times before.

        None of them would be at the festival, though, it was sort of a rule that they were the most comfortable not meeting each other. Phichit borrowed a professional camera that his dance studio used to record routines and rehearsals to post on their YouTube channel and other media. (Otabek had thought Vogue was just a magazine before starting to watch their uploads religiously.) Peach was responsible for capturing everything so that Yuuri could send it to his sister after. It’d been so long since they’d seen each other in person, it had to be killing him to stay in California. And Mari had only visited once, and it had been almost two years since then.

          Beka should count his blessings. Even though everyone else was, at least, Dali was coming. It was difficult, however, to breathe through his mouth since his jaw wouldn’t unclench, thinking that Samal and Zhazira Altin would come and, not only that, they’d impose their presence and their voices, their mockery draped in poise. And Yuuri would cook meals for them and pour them drinks, even though they’d be making comments about him being Otabek’s wife the whole time. Again. They’d visited four times since they’d moved and it was always the same little dance, the same little bow around their pitchforks. It made Otabek sick to his stomach.

 He’d set himself up for a crisis. Feverish, anxious, stressed, in the back of a crowd, waiting for one of the last performances, getting hot from other people’s heat and the lights and his own clothing pick. He literally wanted to die. It was getting so hard to breathe he thought that he was going to pass out during the act before Yuuri’s, but he also thought that he might miss his friend’s if he left to get some fresh air. It’d also mean that he’d have to face the wave of students leaving the premises for their days off and it was a typical North Hollywood kind of hectic to be in the Art Institute of California when the whole student body couldn’t wait to leave and get high by the beach.

        When the music started, it made him calmer. He recognized [Flame of Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TjuDAXT4kgs) very well, he loved it, admired everything about it, including the original choreography. Viktor hadn’t changed the beginning, where Yuuri sat on the ground with his legs crossed and used heavy breathing as a way to make the audience emulate it and feel the weight that the character felt in his chest. For Otabek, it helped. It made him inhale through his nose and exhale through his mouth, something that Yuuri had always helped him do. The course of the routine was incredible. Something that Katsuki had always pointed out was that he wanted to do Taemin justice and he definitely had. And they’d added, after the first chorus, a video of both Viktor and Yuuri dancing in pair, as the Japanese man sat in front of the screen, like memories that would be passing through his brain.

        It was clear that Viktor’s character was a dancer as well and that they were both in a studio, exchanging looks of want and caresses that Otabek didn’t even know were allowed between a professor and a student in the name of Art. It was bold of them, probably more of Viktor. Beka was impressed that Yuuri had even agreed to it. Although, if he thought about it, maybe it was a way of saying goodbye to that status. Maybe they’d already decided that something would have to be done to mend the Japanese man’s guilt over his sister’s burden. Beka wondered if Viktor would go to Hasetsu with him. It seemed likely.

        He was thankful for the large screen, since he’d chosen to stay behind, all the way to the back of the theater. He could’ve gone with Phichit to meet Leo in the front row, but he was afraid to find Yuri there. So he backed out. Again. Almost to the end, however, Leo walked over to him, saying that they’d go backstage to congratulate Yuuri. Otabek agreed, not taking his eyes off the stage until all the feathers were on the ground and lights were off. He did turn to his right to look at his friend, but, when the lights were turned back on, the only thing that he could catch was a glimpse of the sequin face of a tiger on the back of a black tank top. Looking upwards, there was blonde hair sticking out of a bright red beanie and he had no doubts then. He was already pushing Leo out of the way.

         Yuri was leaving. And Leo - Otabek didn’t know who the hell he thought he was - was trying to stop him from going after the single person that made him forget that he was afraid.

         “Beks, calm down! Think for a second!” The American man pleaded as Yuri closed the door behind him. “You’re in bad shape, okay? It’s not the right time for you to argue with him.”

        “Who says I’m arguing with him? I’ll tell him I’m sorry, that’s what I’ll do.”

        “He’s the one who should apologize to you, man! You treat him like the goddess of the land, then he goes and fucks you up like that—

        _What?!_

 “You’re really getting on my nerves.” Otabek despised the fact that he was straining his throat to get Leo’s head out of his ass, _again._ “I don’t care whoever you think you are that you won’t forget your stupid straight-boy pride for the one _single_ person who got you to _feel_ something in your entire pretentious life, but _I—_ love Yuri.” He made sure to pronounce it very clearly. “I’m not going to go around pretending that I don’t.”

If he could help it anyway.

       Right then, he could. He did it by yanking his wrist out of his friend’s grip and making way in between the people to get to the door. When he suddenly opened it, though, he couldn’t see Yuri. All that he could see was that there were too many people who weren’t him and it turned them into passing, faceless figures. He prayed to his own mind to give him the strength that he needed to pull through and, as he did, he turned to his right. And he told himself, over and over again, to shut the other thoughts in his brain, to ignore them. They were just students, the same ones that saw everyday, there were just more of them that night, that was all. And they were going to the same direction that he was going, to the gates, all they wanted was to leave. They didn’t care about him. They didn’t. They couldn’t even see him, they were looking ahead. _There are people behind me._ And those were the eyes that he imagined fixed on his back, following him, looking at his back, not the gates, not the gates. They knew that he was going after Yuri, they thought he was ridiculous and desperate, all of them did. To be running after a man, nonetheless, one he couldn’t even see. Their laughs, “All these years and he still doesn’t get it.” He could almost feel them pocking at his back.

      When the backs of their heads turned into a shapeless blur, he saw blonde hair that had been growing steadily, it might even reach his shoulder soon. So he told himself to look only at him. It shouldn’t be hard, he was the only definite form in front of him. But he’d been lost in the crowd before and if he were going home, Otabek couldn’t follow him there—he wouldn’t. He needed to make him stop walking. He needed to speak. Just the idea of it seemed to make his heart swell and it suddenly didn’t fit his chest anymore. What were those exercises again? Fuck, it was hard to keep up with keeping him in sight and trying to make way and that asphyxiating lung work. Damn it, he needed to speak.

       And he tried doing the same as he did in school, waiting for his name during rollcall. He’d practice it in his head, like counting to three, then he’d do it on impulse. _Just do it at once._ He imagined himself saying it, then he mouthed it and he tried to make the sound come out the first time, but his mouth closed against his will. It was remarkable how his body fought it. He couldn’t lose that one, though. He’d come all that way. He said it, normally, once.

        “Yuri.”

        And he tried to keep looking ahead and moving forward, trying not to look at anyone that might’ve looked back. Yuri couldn’t possibly have heard him. The people in the back must’ve been finding that the most amusing. As soon as he got into a space where he could stop, where he could see Yuri perfectly, even though he was far away and Yuri still walking, he pressed his lips together and bit their insides. He imagined Yuri looking back at him. It was what he wanted most, since earlier in the night where he’d just wanted to die. He thought that seeing his eyes might make it stop; that struggle to breathe, to see.

        “Yuri!” He shouted. _Pay no attention to them._ So many people had turned their heads, but their faces were all painted black. Shadows. Nothing more. **“Yuri!”**

The blonde teen in the beanie stopped. The tiger on his back gleamed like it caught the lights from all the poles. The skin on his shoulders was so clear in contrast with the black. He could see a tinge of red lurking out of the cutout sleeves, that was probably the burn scar. The shadows were just the night, and it was natural to be dark. As it was natural for him to see light where light was. He did turn, not all around, but Otabek could see in perfect definition, the line of his nose, of his chin, the light coming from the cellphone that he was holding with both hands in front of his ribs, the light-wash of his jeans. It was vivid, because it contrasted the most in the dark.

         Otabek went from breathing too fast to breathing to slow. If he could stop right there, he would, because there was no way of knowing how things would go beyond that moment. He thought it over, what he wanted to say. The image that came up in his head was of a note from one of his first regrets regarding that person. No matter what, he was going to say “Sorry”, louder.

        The Kazakh turned his hands into fists and nervously rubbed his thumbs on his index fingers. There were so many people there, he was hyperaware of it. And they kept walking past him, walking past Yuri and they would turn around again. They would poke him with their glances. Otabek didn’t know how long he stayed there, it seemed like a year to him, but he knew that that was because he was miserable. Yuri was still there, and he had turned fully around, he put his cellphone in his back pocket. He was just waiting. Yuri was just waiting. What had he ever done to have Yuri waiting for him like that?

     “I’m-" He started, and he did it as he breathed in, then realized that that wasn’t the right way to speak. He breathed in again, and pressed the tips of his fingers deeply into his palms until he could feel the prominence of his own anatomy. He licked his lips. _Don’t think._ **“I’m sorry!”**

      _Don’t look at them. Don’t look at them. Don’t look at them. Don’t look at them._

Yuri was walking toward him and it seemed like he’d discovered fear for the first time. He was already exposed. He’d become the wounded animal. It made him look down and just watch the pair of red Converse sneakers take quiet steps toward him. When there was nowhere further for Yuri to walk, Otabek was glad that he hadn’t just walked past him. Then he saw, from the corners of his perspective, Yuri’s hands reaching behind him. Yuri took the hood of Otabek’s garment and pulled it up, then he adjusted the sides to cover the Kazakh’s head, as it should, and he hadn’t even thought about it. When it came to clothes, he covered himself up because it made him feel guarded, and that was the moment when he felt safer that whole, entire night. He was grateful for it because it seemed like he knew just what to do.

       “That was hard for you, huh?” Yuri’s voice was clear as day and his eyes had never looked greener. He was beautiful, was all that Otabek could think. He was blushing on his cheeks and his nose. He didn’t look angry at all. Then he gave Otabek a light congratulatory little punch on the chest and showed him a smirk. “Good job.”

        “Yuri, I’m--“ He tried to continue.

       He was going to say sorry again, or just spill everything at once. Then Yuri’s lips were suddenly on his cheek, too dangerously near his lips due to the fabric of the hood covering the rest. The feeling of it was so soothing, it made Otabek close his eyes. It sent a wave of calmness through his body. He wasn’t taking meds anymore. Ever.

       “You already said it.” Yuri told him, holding onto the front pockets of Otabek’s hoodie.

      They kept looking at each other for a second, both knowing that there was more to say, both aware that it wasn’t the time or the place. Otabek was desperate to tell him that he was in love. There wasn’t anything in the world that he could say that would let Yuri know about the power that the shades hidden in the green of his eyes or how there was such gentleness in one side of his duality made the Kazakh feel alive.

       It helped him breathe. Ironically, because, with those eyes staring at his like that, and the flush showing through his pale skin, parting his lips in a way that Otabek couldn’t tell if he wanted to kiss or to be kissed, let alone mentioning how cute he looked in a beannie – Beka had never seen him wear one before -…

       Ironically, because he was breath-taking.

       “Go back to your friends.” The blonde told him, letting go of his pockets and taking a step back. “I’ll text you.”

       Otabek didn’t move. The last time he watched the teen leave, he didn’t see or hear from him for days. He’d missed him so much. Yuri was still walking backwards, motioning playfully with his hand for Otabek start walking, too. “I’ll text you, _I swear_!”

       Beka huffed. He could never win against that smile. They were alone. There’d been no one, anywhere, ever. So Otabek turned around, there was still a tingling on his cheek that kept him company through the way. Like a nicotine patch.

       He’d been comparing things to smoking cigarettes too often.


	13. mirər

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it took me a while to update - my laptop's broken and I could just recently get a temporary replacement -, but this chapter is twice the length of the other ones. (It was meant to be even longer, but it's a bitch to format 20K words) Hope that helps! Thank you for sticking with this fic ♡

        

 **Yuri. >** im not mad at u, just fyi. ive been thinkin and I came to the conclusion that I already knew that u knew, which makes me a hypocrite, so yea. I mean, duh, even if youd never stepped foot in Kazakhstan, ur parents would know, then u would know, and the whole thing was just me being a fucking brat. i might still wanna split ur face sometimes cus u just had to be my first friend and cant just throw you away outta my own free will. i lied, im mad. not at you, just at what my life turned out to be. i wish you didnt know anything. i wish there wasnt anything for you to know. it annoys me that there already was data of me filed in ur brain and I cant get it out, so whats left is for me to paint over it. katsudon talked to me, so no need to explain anything. id already sorta figured it out anyway. not my fault that u fanboyed over me, ok? The kid aint real, otabek. get over him. you already got whatever was good for you out of him. im happy about that. But ill introduce myself to you for real, then youll know what you get and dont get outta me n if it alligns w what you want in the present. I wont trap you either way. sorry that he did for so long or sorry that he doesnt anymore, idk.

  
**Yuri. >** anyway, is tokyo ghoul still standing?

  
      For each one of those sentences, Otabek could come up with a paragraph. He could further develop every little piece of Yuri's mind and how he had defined the situation. It wasn't like he was wrong, just that there was so much more to everything. Even about himself being a hypocrite. _Every person on the planet is, Yura._ The Kazakh had to hold himself back, however, since that was the first time he had called Yuri anything else other than his name, even if it were only in his own thoughts. It was enough that he had been allowed back in the blonde's world, with a promise of exploring it to boot. Otabek heard a little devil speaking in his ear that he had gotten exactly what he wanted. He despised that part of his brain and wanted to send it off flying. Had he been the one to trap Yuri? If they hadn't become friends, would Yuri's response be throwing him away? Was that kind of attachment stopping the teen from going with his instincts?  
        Should he reply, then, and tell him that human instinct wasn't just a random voice in one's head that irrationally coerced them into fight or flight responses? Instinct was the brain connecting all the signs that one hadn't been consciously able to perceive because the mind was distracted; distracting on its own. Those pieces of information that had been collected from past situations and emotions became the instant, most rational prediction of outcome that the human brain was able to process. He should trust it, because it was the most reliable form of protecting himself. On the other hand, Otabek knew, being the possible source of harm, that he wouldn't hurt Yuri. And, if he decided to leave any other time, that Otabek would let him go without question. And he knew, being himself, that he was so incredibly relieved that he hadn't been thrown away.  
       Deciding not to convince him to cut ties or not cutting ties himself to spare Yuri sounded manipulative in his head. Then again, he already understood that he only saw the worse in himself, so maybe it wasn't the case. The amount of time that Otabek spent thinking it over was disrespectful to Yuri, who had sent the text probably as soon as Viktor arrived home and he knew that they had gone back, too.

 ** > You:** Of course.

       Even though he was getting sicker by the minute and that he'd go to pick Dahlia up at the airport the next day, and that the rest of his family would be arriving after her, just later in the night... Even though he had made himself to be the cunning fox that was inviting the wounded animal over. "Of course", he'd said. At that moment, Otabek couldn't think of anything that he felt more strongly about than having Yuri next to him again. Then the teen could start showing him around his mind like a room full of mirrors, a maze in a garden. What he wished most was to be taken by the hand and led towards anything that felt like Yuri, smelled like him, that looked as green as his eyes. He didn't care if he was going to be swallowed by a black hole or poisoned by seemingly harmless flowers. Love was really like a feverish embrace, he didn't know if it'd go away and leave him cold, he didn't know if it'd take him away for good. Nobody knew. And everyone accepted fevers as they were. Just beginnings.

 ** > You:** You have nothing to be sorry for. You've never disappointed me. Still, I look forward to knowing you. No need to worry about me. I'm ready. (As hard as that is to believe)  
** < Yuri.**: after what you did tonight I dont doubt it. u can take a blow, cant you, Altin?  
_I'd take a bullet for you._  
** > You:** Surprisingly, that's what I'm best at.  
** < Yuri.**: good, cus thats basically all I do  
** > You**: I can argue with that, but I won't 'cause we've just made up.  
** < Yuri.:** try it later, but even viktor accepts that lashing out is my thing  
** < Yuri.:** hes not too pleased about it tho

         Yuri went back to texting like he usually did, splitting what he wanted to say in short sentences instead of the whole paragraph that he had sent before, that was unusually nicely punctuated. He pressed "send" instead of typing periods and, when he did, he didn't bother to up the case of the next letter - or went out of his way to keep it lowercase, because smartphones usually auto-corrected that. It seemed like he did it to keep it casual, even though he was talking about how Viktor feared the end of his nephew's career as a painter if he wasn't able to express opposite emotions to the ones that he'd been feeling since the beginning. Yuri told Otabek that he only knew how to paint in anger. It was the only thing that he wanted to show, the only emotion that came naturally to him. His career would be over when people got used to seeing the outrageous - making it not outrageous anymore. But he didn't feel confident painting anything else other than blood and guts, other than fire and destruction. Otabek's brain seemed to organize itself, push all of its mess to the corners so there'd be room for everything that Yuri was sharing. Beka gladly made room for him. At every text he received, Otabek thought that the teen would stop sending them. He'd already learned so much, he was already so grateful, but Yuri kept going. He wanted to talk. Time and time again, Otabek built this sense of doubt towards their relationship, and Yuri went and overruled it. He was going to open up about everything, wasn't he? And, what Viktor had said about Yuri trying, he really was, wasn't he? And every time Katsuki had said "Yurio really likes you, Kin", was he right?  
         At every word that Yuri said, Otabek felt a physical sensation of confirmation that he didn't know how to explain. Like the pain in the stomach of wanting someone so badly, or the internal goosebumps of fear, to describe the concrete effect of the abstract was something controversial to do - not all people felt the same. At least, none would ever know if some did. To him, confirmation felt the same as taking a shower. It washed over, covered him like a blanket, made his muscles relax.  
_"Chilll, Beka."_ Confirmation was like the stinger in the constellation of Scorpius.  
          Jesus Christ, no one would ever get _that_.

 ** > You:** Can I call you? I won't interrupt you, I'll just listen.  
** < Yuri.**: u wanna just hear me talk?  
** > You:** Yeah. Is that okay?

           It took a minute, but, instead of replying, Yuri was the one to call. It was still quite something to see his name on the screen as his phone rang, but Otabek didn't wonder if he should pick up anymore. He wasn't scared to talk to Yuri anymore. Even the things that Yuri said and did that would, usually, feel like he was being put on the spot weren't intimidating. When the scariest of all actually happened, when the blonde boy figured everything out, and even that had turned out okay, Otabek made the rational decision to shut down the parts of his brain that sabotaged him. He sent them so far away that it would take some effort to hear their screams, and he wasn't about to make that effort. He was sick, and he was lonely, and he was in love and he wanted Yuri's company more than ever, for that constant headache to go away. He had no energy to apologize for it.

        Yes, he wanted to listen to the painter's story and for him to have an outlet no matter what it meant for himself, but, fuck, had it gotten bad after him and his friends got home. His whole body was sore and he couldn't open his eyes all the way, and, even though the brightness was at the lowest, it still stung to look at his phone. Was he comforting himself instead of Yuri? Was he using Yuri's need to speak to massage his temples with his voice? Was it all that bad? He reached the conclusion that it was; he should tell him that he was so tired that his words would be like a lullaby. He should tell him that he was so feverish that he was sweating even though his feet were cold. Then Yuri would be able to choose if they'd talk in those circumstances or not.

         But he picked up because he didn't have the will to be righteous then. It'd been too long since it'd felt like such a drag to be sleeping alone.

       "Are you alright?" was the first thing that Yuri asked.  
       "Mm-hm. Are you?"  
       "Mm... Dunno. If I'm being honest, it's kind of embarrassing to talk to you now."  
        Yeah, he'd probably jumped the gun there.  
        "Sorry, I shouldn't have--"  
        "No, Beka, it's not--" Yuri clicked his tongue. Otabek felt sorry for being annoying, but then the teen sighed and it was like he was blowing out melancholy. "I said it wrong. I feel like you actually want to talk to someone else, and I don't know how to be that person."

         How silly of him. How pure. How humble of him not to see, since it seemed obvious to everyone else that Otabek contemplated his existence in absolute awe. Yuri had to have some sort of aching self-doubt to not be able to catch that Otabek had never bothered to ask another person to hear their voice and the reason why Yuri's was the exception.

        "There's no one else I'd ever want you to be."

       He could blame it on the haze of the fever - and he had the proof for it, given that it had come out like a murmur, as if he was by himself in the lone, dark room and he was still watching Yuri from a distance, saying words that would never reach him, that'd have no consequences whatsoever.

        "I meant it when I said that I'd introduce myself to you. I haven't yet, so save that line for later, if you still mean it."

         The self-doubt. Otabek didn't want to rush to conclusions, but the little monsters that hid within Yuri seemed to be getting closer, turning into glistening eyes in the darkness, sending a shiver down his spine. He wasn't afraid. They just were nowhere to be found, then on his face in a split second. Otabek just didn't know when they were coming, like when a cat rolled its tail around his leg. The unexpected touch of the unknown. That was all.  
       "What makes you think I'd change my mind?"

        "You wouldn't be the first." He deadpanned. "I've changed, Beka. I have a terrible personality, and, like, my head is even more fucked up than my body, there's nothing pretty going on here. My own family can't stand me-- well, I can't stand them either, but point's made."  
         "I wouldn't know about others, but Viktor adores you."  
         "That one is gone, too. Ever since he met Yuuri, he's gone."  
_Abandonment._ Otabek had seen signs of it, but it was the first time that it was confirmed.  
         "He said there was no life at home without you."  
         " _Hehe._ That old man. I was only gone a few days." Yuri mocked. "I guess I am being unfair. It's not like he's my dad--" The teen stopped speaking abruptly, then continued " _Haha,_ I thought my tongue slipped for a second there, but I don't need to hide it from you anymore. Kinda relieved, I gotta say."  
         "Should I have told you sooner?"  
         "I don't know. I never know how I'll react with you."  
         "What does _that_ mean?"  
         "You're harmless, Beka. I've been kicking and screaming for the longest time, but I haven't with you, so the way that I act around you is new even for me." He explained. "Do you understand why I need you to let go of whoever you think I am?"

        Otabek wished that there would be a time when they'd be able to talk thoroughly about it. There wasn't a distance between who he thought Yuri was and his real self. Because Yuri was ever-changing in his mind and everything that was known about him washed the Kazakh's brain with the same strength that the waves of the ocean cleaned the crust off of rocks and the same delicacy with which they didn't destroy them. However the water shifted, in speed and temperature, salty or sweet, the rocks would remain as they were because it was where they'd been since forever. Otabek had a personality that was problematic, yes, but steadily so. He knew, as he was then, that he'd accept Yuri, however he was, without a second thought.

       "That's done." He said "It's been done since we met. I never gave a personality to the image I had of you, Yuri, it was just an image that helped me through a lot, but I wouldn't burden you with it. There's nothing for you to paint over. You've got a blank canvas. I'm fine with whatever you gotta do with it."

        He heard a quiet huff on the other line.

         "But you have a heart." _Such a sothing tone of voice_ "I don't know how you kept it, but you did and, if I'm to make that canvas bloody and sad, it'll hurt you. And I may not know a whole lot about you, but I think you shouldn't have to carry other people's burdens on your shoulders. Because that's the only way you wouldn't burden me as you say and I don't want you to do it."  
         "That's quite selfless of you, don't you think?" Otabek challenged.  
         "Even I have a limit."  
         "Try me."

         "I've been doing that." Yuri told him. Otabek's brain went into analysis mode. "You're thinking I'm sly, aren't you? That's just the tip of the iceberg, Titanic."

         "That just means I'm going in head-first."  
         "It means you'll sink, moron."  
         "The iceberg was already there, it's not to blame."  
          "People died, Beka."  
          "People die." 

         Silence. Strangely, Otabek didn't regret saying it. Even him, himself, thought that that wasn't something one should just blurt out, but - he could blame on the haze of the fever - he wanted Yuri to know that he wasn't, in fact, harmless. Maybe he knew that he wouldn't physically hurt anyone or want to damage people's brains, but he could be toxic. He could be realistic to a point that made people lose hope. He could be negative enough to infect someone else. Yuri should know it. Otabek's canvas wouldn't come out clean either.

        "Did you think that was cold?" The Kazakh asked, just accepting, as he did, that he was. That everyone thought he was. Everyone was right. If Yuri thought that he was better than that before, he wouldn't anymore.  
        "I thought it was real." The teen replied.

        Otabek didn't know if he should be glad that Yuri shared of his perspective or if he should be sad that Yuri didn't see the prettier, more hopeful things that other people seemed to. All in all, it was a shame that reality was, for them, the coldness of the fact that people die.

        "'Real' is all I really want, you know." The Kazakh said. "So don't worry about me."  
         Yuri hummed and it couldn't have been for more than a couple of seconds, but Otabek could've been nursed to sleep. "You've got some war going on inside your head, don't you?"

_Yes._

        "Does it scare you?"  
        "No. I'm more afraid of people who haven't seen anything."  
         He said it so casually.  
         "Me too."  
         "Does it scare _you?_ "

 _Yes._  
_Yes._  
_Should I tell him?_  
_Say yes._  
_No, it would just make him feel sorry for me._  
_Didn't you want him to know that he could be honest by telling him the truth?_  
_But he might not tell me everything if he thinks I'm not strong enough.I don't wanna burden him. I want him to love me. I don't wanna be a burden._  
        I'm scared.  
_Yura, I'm scared._

        "Yes." came out of his mouth like a bird out of a cage. It also went in like a knife into his pride. He'd promised himself he'd never open up to anyone like that, ever.  
        Yuri hummed again, and it was as fantastic as a hand offering itself to be the bird's ground. "See, you don't need to just listen to me talk."

      Otabek couldn't help but giggle, even though it made his throat hurt a little bit.

       " _Haha_. Was I playing your game this whole time?"  
       "Tell me how sly I am."

       There was that energy in the teen's tone again, like a child inviting him to play when he sat alone at the swings. Otabek kept being told that Yuri needed someone to hold on to, but wasn't he the one that was offering his hand? And it wasn't the first time he did it either. How kind of him. How empathetic. _  
_

      "You're sweet, Yuri." Beka told him honestly. He'd been thinking it for a while.  
       "Ew, what are you talking about?"  
       "You, trying to help me."  
       "I am doing no such thing."  
       "Okay, okay." The Kazakh complied for the time being.

 _N_ o such thing as pointing at a lonesome star, or drying someone's sweat, or checking someone's face for wounds after a fight, or thanking them with drawings and wondering if asking his uncle to appeal someone's suspension was a good idea, or making conversation with the lone guy that looked like he wanted to jump off the balcony, or calling them to compliment their drunken poems that he'd stolen, or slapping someone for laughing at their own disgrace, or giving them the space to mindlessly talk. He was doing _no such thing.  
_

       "I'm gonna go now, gotta go back to work."  
       "You should go to sleep."  
       "Spring Break, bitche~es. More time to work. Yay fucking me."  
       "Then sleep in tomorrow."  
       "No need to tell me twice."  
       "K. Good night."  
       "Night. Bye!"

       How happy he sounded. How silly of him not to know that he'd just made someone's bed all soft and comfy, that he'd just nestled them to sleep.

* * *

       The next day was probably the worst. He wasn't cold anymore, however his throat reached a peak of hurting and it was going to make it even worse if he took the bus to the airport. Yuuri rushed to rub some kind of gel that smelled like Trident and disinfectant around his neck and wrap a dark-gray scarf around it. Otabek complained, but the Japanese man was adamant about it. Said that it was needed for the medicine to work and that he needed the medicine to get better, and he couldn't care less if the smell was bothersome. They were leaving to pick up his sister, after all. And that had been the condition for Otabek to go too, since Katsuki had offered to do it alone.  
      No way he wouldn't see Dahlia as soon as she stepped in LAX.  
       Viktor called his boyfriend and he put it on speaker as he tied his shoes on the couch. Otabek's neck felt like it had toothpaste rubbed all over it and he looked like a douchebag with that scarf. It was so not his style.  
     "Actually, darling, I thought you might wanna come with me to Otis? Yurotchka's not coming after all, I couldn't wake him up." Viktor said.  
      At least, he had slept in, Otabek thought to himself as he checked the cab fares to the airport on every app.  
      "Oh. Is it alright for him to miss the visit?"  
      "Yeah, yeah. It's just a formality."  
      "I see. I don't know if I can go, though, we're picking Kin's sister up at the airport in a bit."  
      "Have you left already? You know Otis is close to LAX, right?"  
      "Mm, we haven't, but I don't wanna mess up your schedule."  
      "Sweetheart, I told you it's just a formality. May I take you? It's too expensive to Uber there anyway."  
      Yuuri gave Otabek a look and the Kazakh had to agree, it was an hour-long drive. And, if Viktor was already going there and he had probably been planning to pick his boyfriend up at their house, well... Beka just wished he didn't have that stupid scarf on. Better to have a neck brace because at least it was obvious that there was something wrong. The thing looked like a fashion choice and it was hot as the motherfucking sun in California. A literal douchebag.  
       "Please?" Viktor whined. "I'll be lonely."  
       Otabek nodded at Yuuri and the Japanese man turned the speaker off to take the cellphone to his ear.  
       "Alright." Katsuki said as he giggled. "God forbid I leave you lonely."

* * *

       Ed Sheeran was playing when they got inside the car. The first thing that Viktor did was give Yuuri a chaste kiss and ask Otabek if he was feeling better. The Kazakh said that he didn't have a fever anymore.  
       "That's not right." Yuuri countered. "He just isn't burning hot anymore."  
       "Should I turn the AC off?" Viktor asked.  
        _Please_ , _no_. _My_ _neck_ _feels_ _like_ _the_ _inside_ _of_ _an_ _oven_.  
      "Just the fan, if you don't mind." Katsuki replied.  
      The Russian man obliged and Yuuri asked him what time was his Otis visit. Otabek was glad that the subject had come up because it was an Art and Design college and he was curious to know what Yuri would be doing there. Until he was hit with the sudden realization that the teen might be switching schools. Of course, it was a college that specialized in his field and the oldest in the state, praised nationally... And Yuri had the talent for it, obviously. He didn't even want to go to AIC in the first place. Deep inside, past the scarf and the burning and the sore, there was a little knot forming.  
       "I'll go right after I drop you off. I'm just taking a look around the room where Yurotchka's exhibit will be. I think this only mattered if it were him making sense of the place, but, oh well, it would be rude to reeschedule since we already took so long to give them a reply."  
       "What's it going to be like?" Yuuri asked.  
       "Oh, I'm so excited!" Viktor sounded so. "They will start featuring young artists with a timeline of their pieces, even the drawings on ripped pieces of paper, everything. To show their growth to the students. Isn't that amazing?"  
     Katsuki agreed and joined his boyfriend in his excitement. The little knot in Otabek's throat flew to his stomach. He was wondering when it would take place, if he could go, if Yuri would be there. And he was imagining soft scenarios in his head of the blonde telling him stories about the pieces, of matching their times to Otabek's own life. What was Yuri feeling in the year that Otabek left the house, for instance? What was he thinking about in the year that Otabek had his head full with Portuguese? He was a feeling so fuzzy inside, he hoped it didn't show. He was pulled out of his imagination when Viktor said "Otabek, you'll wanna hear this."  
      The Professor was quite the story-teller.  
      "Little Yuri was eleven when I bought him his first drawing kit. I was in Japan and I was going to buy him manga, but it was obviously all in Japanese. Silly me." Viktor shook his head "Good thing the kit was self-explanatory, so I bought him that instead. As soon as I came back, I went to his house and gave it to him myself. He was in awe. Turns out he already drew manga characters in his school notebook and just didn't think his dad would buy one of those for him if he asked."  
       "I can't even imagine where he would be if his dad would've supported him from day one." Yuuri said.  
       Viktor's mood suddenly changed. He huffed and turned serious. Did he look like that when he was angry? Given the way that Yuuri turned to him and how his eyes looked concerned when he rubbed his thumb on the Russian man's cheekbone, it seemed to be the case. His look changed as soon as he turned to Yuuri, taking his eyes off of the road for half a second. They looked tender again, and grateful. Otabek imagined that he looked at Yuuri that way when the blonde saw through him. If the conversation the night before had happened face to face, Otabek would've looked at Yuri that same way. Tender, and grateful.  
        "Well, I wanted get him into ballet. He's always had the perfect form for it. But Mikhael would've never allowed it." Viktor tried to go back to the tone from before, but it ended up sounding the same. "What a despicable excuse for a man."  
        As soon as he heard himself, Viktor took a quick look around him and apologized. Otabek didn't know what for. Yuuri would never be offended by it, the Kazakh had no regards for unnecessary politeness... If Yuri's father had never given him the opportunity to discover himself and evolve - if the reasons for that were the ones that Otabek thought, specially concerning him doing ballet -, then he was as Viktor said. There was no need to be sorry for it, no one around to say "sorry" to.  
         "So when is it gonna be?" Yuuri asked after a moment of silence.  
         "Four to six weeks from now. It depends on what they specifically want and how Yuri will accommodate it." Katsuki nodded and Viktor continued. "Otabek, I actually want to thank you."

_Me?  
_

       "Me?" _  
_

       He could catch the driver looking at him in the rearview mirror.  
       "What I told you about Yurochka wanting to open up. I know you have a lot to do with it, so I'm very grateful."  
       Again, they gave him way too much credit. Otabek just shook his head and stared at his thighs. His black pants looked blue-ish from the sun coming in through the tinted window.  
       "He didn't want to do this exhibit because his early pieces are too personal. I didn't refuse the offer in hopes that he would accept it - and that was months ago, the deadline was already close - then he came home yesterday demanding food and saying that he was going to do it. I don't think this would've happened if you hadn't come into his life with such an open heart to give him."

      He hadn't yet. It was too arrogant to present Yuri with a vital organ on a platter and assume that he'd want it. It was scary, also, because it'd be exposed enough to be easily stabbed with a dagger. Otabek knew, however, that even though it was still there, being held by the spider webs of his arteries, he only held ownership of it by default. Because he would do it no matter what, and he'd do it gladly - he'd give it. Against his better judgement, he'd give it, because with every beat it said that it didn't belong held hostage within him anymore. It wanted to breathe. Those were all Otabek's thoughts, though. They affected nothing in Yuri's. He hadn't had the honor of helping Yura breathe as well.  
So he shook his head again, and Viktor offered him a smirk. Katsuki said that he could cry if they kept talking because he was so happy. It was a nice, long way to LAX.

* * *

        Dali's plane should've landed at 4:30 P.M., but it seemed to have taken them a while to get past security and baggage claim or whatever. As they waited in front of the International Arrivals gate, all that Otabek could think was of how tired they must be after a nearly twenty-hour flight. And that the rest of his family should also be arriving soon, from their comfy first-class five-hour flight from Detroit. Ugh, he could puke. All was good, however, when she appeared. If he were being honest, Otabek looked straight past Reina. Dali was the tallest among the Altins and that had been the joke since she became taller than Otabek. That she was so much of a man that she was taller than her brother. "Good thing" she was a lesbian, because "what man would want a freakishly tall woman next to him?" Every time, with that "tranny" joke... And she had heard it all. But she came out smiling so brightly, his beautiful sister. Oh, man, he didn't know he missed her that much.  
        She quickly let go of her luggage and she waved at him as she jogged there to place a hand on the back of his head and pull it to her chest like she was nursing a child. It was so familiar that it didn't matter that he looked so small. Otabek hugged his sister like a mother. What an unfair weight to put on her, but she still had the same comforting smell of Calvin Klein perfume that seemed to have stuck on the large jean-jacket that she wore over a white crop-top and high-waisted sweats. She looked the same. Her hair was messier than when they FaceTimed, but it was undeniably his sister.  
      "I've missed you so much, little brother." Dali told him, ruffling his hair where she held him. Then, she let go gently and pinched both of his cheeks. "Look at you, Yuuri-san is taking good care of you, I see."  
       Otabek had all forgotten that there were other people there. The couple that had come along was standing next to him and... __Reina!__ Oh my God, he'd forgotten about Reina!  
      "Wait a minute, do you have a fever?" Dahlia asked, but didn't wait for his reply and turned to the Japanese man. "Does he have a fever?"  
        Yuuri sighed. "I told him I could come get you..."  
       Then his sister was standing in front of him, with her arms crossed, tapping het foot with an expression that said "So? What do you have to say for yourself?" At least, he'd gotten rid of the scarf before coming in. If she had seen him all covered up, Dali would've just dragged him out of there and into a hospital in a split second.  
       "It's just a cold." Otabek said and then turned to the woman standing shyly next to his sister. Their scene had created a barrier between her and the other couple, so nobody had welcomed Reina yet.  
       If Otabek looked small next to Dahlia, her girlfriend was a tiny little button. She was, at least, a palm shorter than him and she was still very young and skinny, too. There was no denying she was already a woman, though, because she presented herself quite maturely. Reina had long, light-brown hair that draped her shoulders in waves. She was wearing a blue cardigan over a white, flowy dress with a belt around her waist. It was just like Dahlia had said. "Ray is really cute, and girly - complete opposite of me -, and one of the smartest people I've ever met." She wore round glasses that made her face look even tinier. Otabek didn't know if those were for fashion or prescription, but she was just his sister's type. If Otabek had met her first, he'd have introduced Reina to her.

       Dahlia was greeting the other men. The Kazakh couldn't stop to wonder what she could be thinking since Viktor Nikiforov had also been waiting for her at the airport. Beka had told her about the Russian man and his roommate's relationship, but still... For a Kazakhstani girl, it was quite the reason to be starstruck. Nonetheless, Otabek introduced himself to his sister's girlfriend and offered her his hand, which the woman shook tightly. It impressed Otabek when Ray spoke.  
        "Менің атым Reina" She said, and pronounced her name in English. Maybe it was what she wanted to be called, or just how Dahlia called her, or she wanted to make it easier non-Kazakh speakers.  
His sister had already told him that Dahlia only knew the basics of English, so they were to always talk in her language while she was there. It was no problem, since it was also their first language, but Yuuri only knew random words that he had learned from Otabek and during other visits with Dahlia. There would be a lot of translating, he gathered. Anyhow, what had impressed him about Reina was that, while Dali's voice was raspy, hers was just low. One wouldn't imagine such a pitch from her. On the other hand, one wouldn't know the world she had been through just by looking at her petite frame.  
       "Chop, chop, we need to take Bek's stubborn ass home." He heard his sister tell Yuuri, who was laughing with her.  
       Otabek rolled his eyes. Since Ray looked confused, he translated it for her and added "Even though I'm fine." in Kazakh at the end.  
       "Don't lie to her." Dali coutered in the same language, taking her luggage in one hand and throwing an arm around her girlfriend. "Good thing the Airbnb is so close to your house, I swear, you give me the worst headaches when you don't take care of yourself."  
       "I always forget that both of you together means double the nagging." Beka told her, meaning her and Katsuki, who didn't understand a thing.  
      "Darling, then I'll head to Otis now. You guys are taking a cab, right?" Viktor asked, fixing Yuuri's fringe that was getting too long and starting to cover his glasses.  
      The Japanese man nodded. "Do I get to see you tonight?"  
      Viktor's eyes beamed and he showed that blinding smile again. "Oh, baby, when you put it like that..." He said as he pulled his boyfriend into a tight, quick hug. The Russian man continued when he let go. "There's a restaurant Yurochka likes nearby, so I'll get him some take-out after and come over around eight?"  
      "Okay..." Yuuri said as he nodded again. "I'm sorry I can't come with you to-"  
      The Japanese man was interrupted by a sudden kiss. Otabek was used to it, but Dahlia turned to him with her mouth open wide and he knew, if they were home, she would be squealing. When he turned to Reina, however, she looked shocked. Of course, one would never see two men so carelessly kissing in a public place in Kazakhstan.  
       "If you got in my car right now, we wouldn't be going to no visit."

      That was a hell of a pick-up line, it even made Otabek embarrassed to look, so he just turned his head and pretended to care about the flights that were departing and arriving on the screen to his right.  
      "See?" He heard Dahlia say in Kazakh. "It's alright here. Don't worry."  
And that was his sister telling her girlfriend that it was fine for them to be together. Conditionally - as long as they were there. What a sad thing to have to flee not to be concerned about the person you want to hold as you fall asleep.  
       Speaking of... So Yuri liked a restaurant nearby. Otabek wondered where it was.

* * *

  
      Yuuri took the front seat in the taxi. Dali sat in the middle, between her brother and her girlfriend. She was leaning towards Ray, however, both of them looked tired, but Otabek's sister had never been one to fall asleep on planes. It was unconfortable for her, there was no room to store her limbs. Not that it was different in the car, but maybe she felt more comfortable being that close around them and, well, the driver. They had been lucky, though, the man had just greeted them politely and allowed them to talk amongst themselves without prying.  
     "Wow, Yuuri-san," Dahlia called the Japanese man that way more as nickname than a need for honorifics "last time I saw Viktor Nikiforov was when there were millions of him spread all over your bedroom." She turned her head to Otabek for second. "Are they still there, by the way?"  
       Beka shook his head. Katsuki was playing with his fingers and his ears were turning red.  
     "I know, right?" He voiced softly.  
     "He seems nice." Dahlia yawned. "I would've never thought that it'd be so easy to talk with him."  
     "I don't blame you." Yuuri said. "I was intimidated by him my whole life, even though he had never given me a reason to. He was crazy talented and, well, more handsome than anyone I'd ever seen, but I created that aura for him all by myself."  
      "I think that's how most people see him, at least in Kazakhstan."  
      "That's a shame." Otabek spoke for the first time since they had entered. He didn't know that there was a bitter taste in his mouth when he said it, but heads turned to him. He was instantly embarrassed and kept staring at the window.  
      It was the same with Yuri. No one knew him, not really, but there were all these labels glued to him without him even knowing it, without him even giving them a reason. Otabek was guilty of it, too. He understood that he put Yuri on a pedestal, one he didn't want to be on, that he had never been given the choice to step off. It was so hypocritical of him to complain. On the other hand, he thought... Making people better, bigger than they were, than himself was, did it harm them as much as making them worse? What made more damage, the pressure of meeting someone's standards or the pressure to prove someone wrong? When Dali met Yuri, what would she think? Beka was sure that he would impress her. If he could, Otabek would take that blonde's hand and proudly prove the entire world wrong. What the world had done to him, it was a shame.  
       They stopped by Dahlia's Airbnb only so the women could leave their belongings there and, right after, headed to Otabek and Yuuri's house, where the Japanese men had left dinner ready to heat and serve. It was about the time the rest of the Altins would be arriving. Beka was restless because everyone at the house was on his case because of a fever when, in truth, what made him sick was the thought that the past could not be let go of. It wasn't a spot in a timeline, it was crows on telephone wires. It seemed like they were as good as dead if he kept staring at them for a while, and, as soon as he wasn't looking, there'd be a flash mob. They were hungry for it, the rotten skin that had aged and withered since the last time they had ripped and swallowed it. They'd come back to make a fresh wound. Of course. He could never escape it. _Trapped_. Damn it, it was so contradicting, how he was so young and had been independent for such a long time... Still trapped in a virtual cage of his own psyche. Yuuri and Otabek brought the plates out and set the table as the guests sat on the couch. Phichit and Leo wouldn't be coming home, so there were still two empty seats, even when all of them sat down to eat. Otabek hoped to God that they wouldn't show up to fill them, his mother and father. He prayed that he'd okay, even though his body felt hot, even if it burned to ashes, he'd be okay, as long as he could be at peace. And he wasn't haunted by the idea of being filthy. And Dali was laughing with her girlfriend who was still amazed by the idea of being free. He didn't need them there. No one did. He wished them no harm, only a safe, calm distance. There was so much laughter around that table and it echoed in Otabek's brain. Dali had bags under her eyes from lack of sleep and Ray's shoulders were still tense from being in an unknown place, but it was holy how their fingers intertwined on the table. Yuuri - good, kind and caring Yuuri - welcomed them with open arms and smiled at them warmly. They thanked him for the food - Dali even in broken Japanese - and they told tales to each other about their home countries. It was so heartwarming, it seemed like a movie scene. However, Otabek only remembered to eat when he was told to by either his sister or his housemate, because he knew that his family would be in a taxi by then, even though Dali had tried to reassure him that they would only force their presence the next day.

       Otabek knew they wouldn't be so thoughtful. Deep inside, Dahlia knew it too. They were right. Because the bell rang, and Beka could hear the hell-hounds outside. It was crazy how afraid he was of those people. They couldn't hurt him. Not even his dad; Beka had grown taller and he was quite a muscular guy. Telling that to himself didn't help. He was aware that it was an irrational fear, but it didn't make it less real.  
        If he stayed on that seat, he'd freeze. So Beka got up and he got himself behind the counter. What a naïve imagination his reappearing young self had, making himself a fence. Dali was looking at him from the table, but Otabek didn't look back. She knew that that was how they were and, when he got himself in that situation, there was a portion of him that felt betrayed because of the way his sister insisted in denying what they'd been through and made him the only one trying to get away. Why did he have to be alone in that? Why did he always have to be the bad guy, the problem child? His mind wandered off just like that. Awkwardly, Yuuri opened the door.  
        Mom, dad, Kaya and Miya, without their children. He wanted to leave. More than anything. Otabek continued to avoid everyone's eyes. He could hear them greet each other and, from the outside, sure, it looked normal. But his parents were already pointing out that the food made the entire house smell and that the color of the couch was starting to fade.

        "That's some huge television. Is this what four grown men spend money on these days?"

         And they'd laugh and shake it off. Up until then, Otabek was still behind the kitchen counter, picking at his food, pretending to be doing something other than wait. His brothers-in-law hadn't come. Probably stayed to look after the children that Dahlia and Otabek weren't allowed to see. Wasn't that proof enough that they hadn't changed?  
        _Dali_ , _don't_ _you_ _see_?  
       "Are you feeling okay, little brother?"  
      Kaya. Long, dark-brown straight hair. What she asked could simply be translated to "Are you still this moody?" _Ugh_ _,_ _it's_ _unfair_ _to_ _leave_ _Yuuri_ _doing_ _all_ _the_ _hosting_ _._  
      "Yeah. You?" He said, not looking up, taking mouthful of Katsuki's pork cutlet. It'd already gone cold, though.  
      "I'm great." She replied, tilting her head to try to find his eyes. "Will you not speak with mom and dad?"  
      "If I can help it."  
      She sighed heavily. "This is so childish of you, Otabek. They've come all the way here, the least you can do is say hi."  
      "No one's said 'hi' to me."  
      "You want mom and dad to come talk to you first?" She scoffed. "You're still a piece of work, aren't you? Can't you be a little self-aware and see how disrespectful you are acting?!"  
       Otabek couldn't help but smirk. The agonizing irony. He looked at her. She used to be such a carefree, funny girl. Was some of it still there? Was it mom and dad that successfully held her back? Was it Cole?  
      "Where is your daughter, Kaya?" He challenged. "I'd say 'hi' to her."  
       She rolled her eyes. "You're still hung up on that? Let her grow up and become less impressionable."  
       "Sure, then you be more self-aware until then and stop talking about respect."  
  
      She raised an octave of her voice and her eyes became wider. "Come on, Otabek, you can't expect anyone to respect this--" She gestured vaguely with her hands towards the house and then towards him. "-lifestyle."  
      Beka took his plate. "I've made my point."  
      He turned around and decided to wash the dishes. He heard them talking in the living room. He wondered if Dahlia was okay. It seemed like they were avoiding the topic of "Reina" and speaking with Yuuri instead. Dahlia hadn't even introduced her. Otabek's mother asked the Japanese man if he missed his parents. It was only to make a point, to try to make Otabek feel bad because his were going to die someday and, in theory, he was supposed to miss them. Only using Yuuri and his pain to twist their son's ear. Typical. Gross.  
       "I do, yes. I think they would've loved Michigan, so it's a pity that I wasn't able to show them around."  
       "How long has it been, dear?" She asked.  
       "Seven years."  
       "Oh, that is so sad. And both of them on the same year?"  
       "It was a bus crash. No one survived. They were on a road trip, you see?"  
       "It's what I always say," His father started "there is money that isn't worth saving. If they'd only decided to go by plane..."  
        Otabek hastily turned to find Yuuri sitting on the floor in front of the TV. His friend glanced back at him. If it were two years ago, Beka would've already started a fight, but Katsuki didn't like to be defended. He didn't feel like there was a reason and said that it only caused trouble for Otabek. He said that they knew each other well enough to be able to tell if there was something the other couldn't handle. Yuuri was fine. Maybe he was already used to it.  
         Because of Otabek, he'd had to get used to it. Beka turned his moist hands into fists. They were cold and his fever was going up.  
        "They wouldn't have wanted that, sir. Mom and dad were quite fond of looking at landscapes. Just watching clouds for hours on end would've been a bore."  
       The doorbell rang again. If it were his sisters' husbands, Otabek wouldn't go to sleep without punching someone that night. Then, again, to make himself busy, he went to open the door. He saw his mother looking at him. His father sternly looking ahead. Dahlia and Reina standing beside each other. Not touching at all. When he opened the door, he was first struck by Viktor's bright blue eyes and, used to coming over, he greeted Otabek briefly and walked past him. It only left Yuri at the door. Blonde hair tucked behind his ears, eyes looking up at Otabek because the teen had his chin down. One hand inside one of his pants' back pockets, the other holding a white plastic bag. How did Otabek look like? Did he look disturbed? Could it be seen on his face that he had just been pathetically hiding behind a counter? He felt suddenly embarrassed. If Yura knew that that was who he was... That he wasn't able to guard even his own home... If Yura knew it, what would he think?

      He just gave Otabek the bag and got inside. As soon as he did it, the fence moved each step he took. Beka peeked inside and there were Russian snacks in it, the same ones that he'd sent... He turned around to find Yuri and he had a smirk on his face that said that he was very much enjoying doing that.

      "And this?" Beka asked.  
      "Payback." The blonde said and he showed his teeth with a sly smile.  
      So he knew about that, too. How had he found out? Beka decided then that he was going to take that blonde boy's hand and go somewhere else where he could ask and where they could talk freely. But he heard the buzz in Kazakh that was going on in the living room. It was a nightmare, the whole thing.

_That's Viktor Nikiforov!_

      There was no way Viktor hadn't been able to catch his own name. Damn it, why did they have to get mangled in that?

_What is Dietritch's brother doing here?!/And who's the blonde guy?/Didn't they come together?/Doesn't he look an awful lot like Katrina Dietritch?/No way, is he perhaps her son? Wow, they do look the same!_

      "You're the Dietrich kid?" His father voiced, in heavy Russian, because he had to. Of course he would.  
      Then Otabek, even though he still felt dizzy and like he was in an endless mental loop, took one long step to stand beside Yuri. He was still one step behind, however, but he would not allow the charge in that voice to catch the blonde man in front of him. Because Yura, and that was as clear as the sky was blue, Yura had done nothing wrong.  
      The teen crossed his arms and turned his head to look at Otabek..  
      "Is this my fanclub meeting?"  
      "May I ask what this is about?" Viktor asked almost at the same time.  
        Yuri was keeping it casual, but, just as his uncle had, he had to have noticed the tone. Beka frowned and slightly shook his head and the blonde turned to look ahead again. Otabek's father, in a blue, striped button-up with short sleeves, got up and offered his hand for Viktor to shake. The Russian man refused. Yuuri was looking just as confused as Otabek. What the hell was going on? What were the odds of that happening? Why? More importantly, what was next? Had it touched a wound in Yuri already?  
         Oh my God, would he come back? After it was done and they were gone, would Yura ring his doorbell again?

         "Виктор, верно? Твой брат должен был сделать то же самое, что и ты, и заняться show business."  
_Viktor, right? Your brother should have done the same as you and gone into show business._

         The old man was smiling, saying it like a compliment, even though he gestured vaguely when he said the last words, deciding to use English, to make it as bohemian as it sounded in his head. Viktor was something different. His expression was cynical from the start. He wasn't going to pretend that he hadn't noticed. He was going to show that he had manners, that he was mature enough, but he was not going to play the fool. It was an admirable characteristic. He looked like he had the world in his hands.

        "Ну, это многомиллионная индустрия, без старых и старомодных мужчин."  
_Well, it is a multi-million dollar industry without the old and old-fashioned men._

        "Mikhael was still in his 30s, he could've made it."

         "My brother only had the charisma to fool the Russian elite. He would've never won the hearts of an audience."  
        "Even if he was bad at it, what was the worst that could have happened? Some 'boos'... homosexual affairs..."  
        Viktor hummed at the affirmation. "Mikhael is going to rot in his cell without knowing that kind of pleasure."  
       Yuuri widened his eyes. Even though he didn't want to, he knew that he didn't need to, Otabek felt vulgar then. It seemed like he had heard it with his father's ears. Yuri chuckled by himself, watching the conversation. The old man turned as he heard it, switching to look from one Russian to the other.  
       "Of course, you're all _like_ _that_." He huffed "It was foolish of me to think that anything other than shame could come from a family like yours."  
      "Yeka!" Dahlia shouted. _Damn it, what has he done to deserve you call him your father?!_  
      Viktor's eyebrows twitched for a split second and Otabek caught Yuuri holding his wrist. Was Otabek thankful for it? What did Otabek want? Would he rather Viktor punched him and scared them away from the house?  
       "You..." The old man started as he walked towards Yuri. Otabek could imagine it, the blonde's glistening green eyes staring fearlessly at him. "Now that I think of it, Otabek has always had this derranged fascination with you."

 _Vulgar._  
_Shameless._  
_A creep. A stalker._

      He looked at Otabek. "Is that why you came here? Did you come after your princess?"

      When all of that was done and they were gone, would Yuri come back?

 **"Jawap, balam!"**  
_Answer me, boy!_ _  
_

_No, I didn't even know--_  
_Why should I?_  
_Yuri has nothing to do with it._  
_I don't owe you explanations._  
_Get out of here._  
_You disgust me._  
_I'm disgusting._  
_I'm glad I found him here._  
_Shameless. Vulgar._

       He said nothing. He was nothing but a voice in his head. He'd left the house. He rode somewhere else. He shouldn't have left Yuri there alone. He needed to go back for him.

       "Sir, you've got it wrong." The Japanese man stated, turning the old man to him by his shoulder. "I'm the one who came after Viktor. Otabek only came with me so I wouldn't be alone."  
       "Yuuri-san..." Dahlia murmured. Otabek just wanted her to shut the hell up. He'd warned her about this over and over. So if it weren't Reina that they targeted it was sudddenly fine?  
The old man raised his head to look at Viktor in the eyes. He didn't have that cynical expression on anymore. He was serious. Otabek could see the resolve on his face.  
      "I see." Samal scorned. "Do all of you people make a career out of corruption?"  
        Even though Otabek was looking at the scene in front of him, the first thing that he noticed was Yuri's hand turning into a fist. The Russians in house were both so strong. They were both so bewilderingly determined.  
**"No, it wasn't like that--!"** Yuuri raised his voice for the first time that whole night.  
       "Was he your first man?" Samal challenged.  
**"That's enough!"** Viktor demanded, simultaneously with the shock that appeared in Yuuri's face.  
       Because he didn't like to talk about his private life, and also because it was true. Viktor hade been the first person who’d made Yuuri feel comfortable enough to undress, to have sex, to spend the night and have breakfast in the morning. It'd been such a precious moment for him. He seemed so joyful that it'd finally happened, with the person he loved the most in the world no less. It meant nothing that they were both men. It meant nothing.  
_It means nothing._

      "Right on the money, I bet." His father insisted. "Your brother ruined my business. You took advantage of this man who has no one to look after him anymore." And he turned around, to Yuri. "And you ruined my only son."  
        Then he stared straight into Otabek's eyes. _He hates me._ They looked so much alike. Was that the face that he'd see in the mirror when he got older? Couldn't he rip his skin off? _I hate you. I've hated every day I spent with you._ _  
_

        "Nasty old man." Yuri's voice cut the silence. Otabek could only peek at the back of his head. There was such snark in his tone. "At least _my_ father is in prison."

**"HOW DARE YOU COMPARE--"**

       Otabek didn't hear anything after that. There were insults also coming from his mother and sisters, but he only saw Viktor stepping up to stop his father from getting any closer to Yuri. When he realized it, Otabek was already standing in front of him, an arm stretched protectively in front of the blonde. He hadn't been that close to the man who had raised him in six years. And he was blowing flames through his nostrils.

       "Don't you touch Yuri."

       He heard the gasps from the people around as his father's eyes widened out of their sockets. It seemed like there was another Beka, pulling him out, telling him that he needed to leave that place or else... But it was just his body that shut down, just his voice. There were people that he cared more than the parts of him that were in a panic. He couldn't leave Yuri there because Otabek knew the gesture his father had made with his hand when he made his way towards the teen. Samal showed his dominance by grabbing people's face by the jaw. When Otabek was a child, he did it until his lips turned into a pout and his teeth scratched the inside of his cheeks. It made him look ridiculous and that was the gist of it. All his father cared about was being stronger. He was _not_ going to touch Yuri. After Beka grew up and he could make his face rigid enough for his expression to remain unchanged, his father started slapping him across the face. He was _not_ going to do the same with Yuri.

 **"СІЗДІҢ СІЗДІҢ БИТЧЕҢІЗДІ ҚОРҒАУҒА БОЛАДЫ!?"**  
_The first words you say to me are to defend your bitch_?!

      The first slap hit him right on the cheekbone and it was a feeling that he remembered vividly. It felt almost nostalgic to have it back again. He felt Yuri try to move ahead, but stopped him with the same arm that he had stretched out. _Don't_ _do_ _it_ _for_ _me_. _Please_ , _I_ _don't_ _deserve_ _it_. _Such_ _an_ _insolent_ _child_ I‘ _ve_ _been_ , _sweetheart_.  
**"WILL YOU TAKE IT FOR HIM?!"**

  
       The second made his cheek tingle like he'd been bitten by hundreds of ants and it came with Dahlia calling out "father" again, and Viktor trying to pull the old man away by the torso, but it rang in his ears, Yuri's scream and him struggling to step ahead.

      "You motherfucker, I'll kill you!"

       However, Otabek didn't let him. He was stronger. But his father was struggling with Viktor as well and Viktor was also stronger than him. However, those people shouldn't be bothering with him. They'd given him strength. He felt better. He was there. Yura didn't want him to get hurt. Yura shouldn't have had to see that.  
       "Stay out of it." Otabek told the silver-haired man. He looked into Viktor's eyes because he knew that he was himself again. "Let him go."  
        Just as soon as his father was free, the old man lunged back to where he was like a beast. _You know, Samal, I grew taller after I left the house._ It seemed like he went back to the same height as his fifteen-year-old self whenever he saw the man, but Otabek was taller than him now. Otabek looked down on him now. That man didn't have to be the one to punish Otabek for his existence.

**"YOU KNOW HE IS THE SAME BLOOD AS THAT TRAITOR, OTABEK! HE CONVICTED HIS OWN FATHER! WHEN HE TRIES TO PUT IT IN YOU, WILL YOU TAKE IT FOR HIM TOO?! WILL YOU, BOY?!"**

       Vulgar. And contradicting. If Mikhael was the devil, then why not send him to hell? So because of blood "family" automatically meant accomplice. Such barefaced bigotry.  
       Otabek was just glad that he had used Kazakh to scream. Yuri shouldn't have to hear such hateful words. Right then, Beka could feel his own expression. It wasn't there. He looked stoic and cold as he always did. Before that man could even lift his hand again, Otabek took a step forward and he looked down at his father.

       "Get out of my house." He ordered.  
       There was a frown, then, on the face of the beast.  
       "What did you just say to me?" Samal challenged.  
       It was fine. Yuri's hand was on his back. He was fine. Otabek could feel his tongue touching his teeth. **"Leave."**

       Otabek couldn't be bothered by the commotion going on around him. He watched the shift in expression that his father had on his face. It looked even worse than when he had left their home. It looked like he had realized that he was powerless, so he breathed harder and he had this sour look that was just pathetic.  
       "If dad is angry is because these people are here! You kick _them_ out!" Kaya shouted.

       Beka turned to the living room. There were so many of them. Reina was hugging Dahlia so tightly, she looked like a scared little girl. She shouldn't have seen that either. Otabek couldn't even look at his sister anymore. The other two, his mom... Kaya was the only one who still had somewhat of a voice. Miya and Zhahira... They were soulless. He had taken everything away from them.  
       "You too. Leave." Otabek said, and it would be the last time that he would have to kick them out, because they would never, no matter how much Dali wanted, no matter how much they tried to convince him, he would never allow them inside anymore. That was Yuuri's home, where he should feel comfortable and respected, where Viktor could find peace and calm after his long days. It was a place where Yura should feel safe, because it was also Otabek's home and Beka loved him so much it made him feel like crying.  
         Otabek took Yuri's hand and made his way behind the counter. He could still hear screaming from the living room, but that was all that he had energy for. The last thing that he would do was take Yura behind the fence.  
       "I recommend you leave before I have to escort you out." Viktor told them.  
       And Otabek stood there, with his back to the fridge, his arms crossed in front of him. Yuri mirrored it. And they waited until everyone was gone. Beka blocked everything, even the rushed apology from Dahlia. He couldn't be angry at her, she had her own issues, her own reasons-- but he was. So he wouldn't face her then.  
       He could only breathe when Viktor closed the door behind him. Otabek only heard the sound. And he let his arms relax and saw the blue-eyed man hold Yuuri and caress the back of his head.  
        "It's okay now, my love." He said.  
_I'm sorry, Yuuri._ He felt such overwhelming guilt. And what should he say to the blonde boy in front of him? The one that hated his past and had been attacked for it inside of his friend's house, where he had come with snacks and a sly smile? Otabek looked at Yuuri, but he didn't know what his eyes meant. Was Yuri just analyzing his expression too? He ran a hand through his hair.  
       "Well, that was hot." The teen said, with a jokingly suggestive manner.  
He was doing it again. Trying to help, trying to make it better - or just easier. Otabek could tell that he had felt it sometimes. Otabek had been able to catch him flinching sometimes. Otabek had seen him lean back when Samal made his way towards him, even though he hadn't left where he was standing. Why should he be the one to fix it? He looked so precious just waiting for Otabek's reply or reaction, just to see if it had worked. Beka loved him to death.  
        "Sorry, Yura."  
        Why then of all times to call him that? Otabek thought to himself. But Yuri didn't seem bothered by it. "Is that all you say to me now?"  
        The blonde reached out his hand to touch the Kazakh's cheek. His hand was cold, or maybe Otabek's skin was too hot from the fever or the slaps. Yura chuckled.

        "Imma really kill your dad." He said it lightly and softly as he bent his fingers and ran his knuckles gently up and down Otabek's cheek. The painter huffed. "Weak."  
       The second time that Otabek held Yuri's hand that night was when it was on his face. Yuri's lips parted a bit. He never seemed to expect any kind of move coming from him. The blonde didn't reject it, though.  
        "Are you okay?" The Kazakh asked.  
        Yuri grinned. "I'm fine, I'm used to it."  
_You're_ used _to it._ Just the thought of it made Otabek's blood boil.  
       "That's not the kind of thing you should get used to."  
       "Aren't you used to it too?"  
       Good fucking point he made there. They were both kind of screwed. So Otabek mirrored him and grinned, taking his hand away and leading it to their side, without letting go of it.  
       "I'm fine."  
_"Ha!"_ The blonde exclaimed. "Your hands are shaking, you fucking liar."  
       He took Yuri's other hand on the right side.  
       "I'm fine." Otabek repeated, lletting his forehead rest on Yuri's shoulder. He smelled like paint - because there were always splatter on his clothes - and CK One. _You're still here. I'm fine._  
        The teen let go of one of his hands and it felt empty for a second, before it was on his black hair and he could feel Yura lower his head and let his cheek touch the side of Otabek's. It was pleasantly close to his ears when Yuri spoke.  
        "That's right. You're fine now."

* * *


	14. Bubblegum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 80K words later...

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

 

    "Turns out you're all kinds of hot." Yuri said, when his hand ran down Otabek's hair to the nape of Beka's neck. "Have you been sick this whole time?" He asked, adjusting them to look at the Kazakh's face as he did.   
     Otabek noticed that the teen enjoyed touching his face. He didn't know if it was like this with everyone that he was close to, but it didn't matter, really. His hands were always cold, however they felt like a blanket. It was a feeling of switching the side of his pillow at night. Better than that. No one that saw Yuri's work - _no one_ \- would know that he had such a gentle touch. However violent his pieces looked, however rough his palms felt when there was paint on them... Yuri's fingertips were soft as feathers.  
      "Oh, right, it's time for your medicine again." Yuuri remembered, making his way to the cabinet.  
     The Kazakh sighed. That night, he had seen way too many people stand up for him. It was embarrassing and he felt inadequate, and Yuri's hand was still in his - which was amazing, as matter of fact. The problem was that Viktor was there. Great guy and all, showed support... But he was Yuri's family. And he was _huge_. They had such incredible chemistry, though, him and  Katsuki, because one came with the pill and the other with the glass of water. Otabek took each, even though he didn't know where to look at.  
      "Mm... Thanks." He managed spit out right after swallowing. "There's really no need for--"  
      "Boo-hoo, let's get you laid."  Yuri interrupted, grabbing Beka by the hand again.  
      Fuck, thank God he'd already swallowed, yet he couldn't help but steal a glance from Viktor. Yuri didn't mean it like that... _Right?_ However, his uncle had heard the same thing and they already had history with jokes like that getting misinterpreted. Thankfully,  Viktor didn't seem fazed at all (differently from Yuuri and Otabek himself).  
      "Where's your bedroom?" The blonde asked, not giving Otabek the time to answer. How would he answer that anyway? Would Viktor think that he was going with it if he did? Yuri instantly turned to the Japanese man. "Where's his bedroom?"  
      "F-" He started, taking a look at Viktor's expression as well. "First door to your right."  
      The Russian teen only nodded once and led them out of the kitchen. Beka didn't know if his heart was beating that fast because he could literally die of embarrassment or because Yuri Plisetsky was guiding him by the hand to his own bedroom.  
      "You children behave!" They heard Viktor shout from the kitchen and Yuri chuckled to himself, turning to Otabek as he opened the door. Oh, damn, he was gorgeous. What the hell was he doing in Otabek's plain, boring room, where not even his drawing was hung on the wall anymore?  
       "Take a nap, okay? You can shower or whatever when you wake up." The blonde told him, gesturing to the bed with his head.  
       "Um... I kinda have  a hard time falling asleep this early." Beka replied honestly.  
      Yuri just nodded and placed his hands on Otabek's shoulder and arm to have him sit down. "I'll stay with you until you do." He said, getting on the bed on his hands and knees to make his way to the other side. He took that side's pillow and turned it vertically  before pressing his back against it. Otabek had only one leg bent on the bed, his other foot was still on the ground. The Russian was yet to comment on the room. That was Yuri Plisetsky. _The_ Yuri Plisetsky.  Yuri Plisetsky was suddenly on his bed. Yuri Plisetsky was going to stay there. That was quite a lot to take in two and a half minutes. Such a pretty profile, though. Otabek noticed the teen's eyeliner was smearing a bit. It made him want to fix it, but that would be just an excuse to touch Yuri. Beka didn't have the slightest notion of make-up - he wouldn't "fix" it, he'd probably make it worse. 

       "What?" Yuri asked, and his voice had softened again, just like it had sounded on the phone. Otabek looked down, tried to shrug it off. He'd most likely been staring. "Hey, you know you can tell me to fuck off anytime, right?"  
       The Kazakh looked at the blonde again, he could feel the creases between his brows. "What?" He repeated.  
       "You don't really tell people what you're thinking, right? Say, if you thought I was imposing, you wouldn't tell me, _right_?"  
      Otabek huffed, accepting that it was true. He looked at his own hands and started playing with his fingers. "Probably not." He admitted. "But I wouldn't go out of my way to say the opposite either."  
      "So silence is a negative?"  
      "Not necessarily. But if I noticed that you were thinking you were imposing on me, I'd tell you."  
      Yuri let out a laugh. "I'd die to hear you tell me to fuck off."  
      _Silly you._ "The opposite." He said, and he watched Yuri's expression become serene again, as if he was watching flowers bloom. "I'd go out of my way to tell you the opposite."  
      "What's that?" The painter asked with unwavering, picturesque green eyes.  
      _Be here when I wake up._  
      "I like it when you're around." The Kazakh compromised. "It calms me down."  
      They looked at each other for a second too long. Otabek wondered if the hiding was over, if the silence between them was just the truth that was whispering into their ears and that was why they weren't speaking. It told them that there was more. It oscillated in intensity depending on the person, depending on the day, depending on the moment, but there would always be more between them. And that truth wouldn't allow them to speak anything else other than the same words it whispered into their ears. The Kazakh wondered, also, how many more times did they have to come to the realization that there were way too many unsaid things to speak over until he finally got the urge and the nerve to tell Yuri that he was the most beautiful person that he had ever seen, and that he had a soul that was constantly struggling in the confinement of his body, it sometimes slipped from his lips, it appeared on his eyes, it held back the force in his hands.  
        And that he was funny. It was essential.  
        "Damn, you get honest when you're sick." Yuri voiced as he let out a soft laugh that was meant to bring sound to the silence. "Come on, lie down. I'll believe you when you sleep it off."  
       Otabek grinned to himself. _Cute._ So the Kazakh did as he  was told and he rested his head on the pillow next to Yuri. He couldn't manage to turn to his side, though, so he stared at the ceiling. That plain white ceiling. He'd just noticed that Yuri had already turned the AC on. It beeped when it started, so it only meant that Otabek had been too distracted to hear it.

       It reminded him of the night at the Hollywood Sign.  
       "So, which one was your favorite sister?"  
       His favorite sister. _I guess that's about right._ "The tall one, with short hair."  
       "What was her name again?"  
       "Dahlia. Dali."  
       "She's the one who sends you snacks, right?"  
       Beka nodded, even though it seemed like he'd been caught again.  
       "Ya know, probably shouldn't give the ones she leaves little Sharpie notes on to your childhood crush."  
      _Notes?_ Fuck, he was right. Dali did write a couple of words sometimes on the bags; just "I miss you" or "Hope you like this one", nothing major or complex, but just enough to give him away.  Otabek didn't hide that he wanted to crawl under a rock then, since he did turn to lie on his stomach, nose squished against the pillow because, _oh my God, how fucking lame._

      _Wait a second._ Otabek dared to let one of his eyes creep from the pillow because Yuri had just said "childhood crush" loud and clear... _Right?_ Did he intend to start the subject? Did he want Beka to confirm it somehow? Was he drawing a line by putting a time limit on said "crush"? However,  Yura was staring at the ceiling too. There was nothing there, though. Thinking about it, Otabek wondered what kind of images did he see. It could be a blank canvas, if he so wanted. He really had one all for himself. The Kazakh didn't mind being the same as painted-white concrete if that meant there was something, anything that Yuri could work with.   
      "I thought you'd have instruments." Yuri said, monotone. It sounded like he was saying it to himself.  
      "I had a piano in Detroit. I couldn't bring it with me, so I decided to just borrow one at school whenever I need."  
      "I really don't know anything about you." The same tone, still looking at the ceiling. It made Otabek feel a kind of sadness inside. Another line being drawn. "So why am I in your bed?"  
      The Kazakh turned to lie on his side, supporting his head on his palm, elbow pressed onto the pillow. Yuri looked down at him then.  After their cellphones screens shut off, it got regrettably dark. Beka could still make out the light coming from the eyes of the one that he loved, that he wanted most, whose lips he wished he could kiss right on that moment. That was the second time that the thought crossed his mind, but it reached him more assertively. Then he saw the sillhouette of Yuri, his head going down to rest on his bent knees, arms hugging them loosely. The eyes. That night, his eyes were like a beacon that gave him a sense of where he should go if he were to follow through with it, to take the leap and break the silence - or create a new kind - by tasting him and letting him know why they had ended up in that bedroom. Because it'd been a long time coming. Because Yuuri told stories about strings that brought people together no matter what their circumstances were. Yuri could be a Russian painter and Otabek could be a Kazakh translator that had grown up in America, but they still ended up in that - and so he quoted - "plastic dump of a country", especifically in a university in North Hollywood. The same string that had taken Otabek to his birthday party on March, the third. Then up the hills, and inside that plain, boring bedroom.   
         _Because I might love you enough for both of us._  
         "You were waiting for me to fall asleep."  
         "Right." Yuri agreed, airy; Otabek could hear the grin on his lips. "You're right."  
        Just like that, the teen adjusted himself and lied down, opposite to the Kazakh. Beka didn't know if he was allowed to breathe, he didn't know if he was allowed to speak. Being the way that he was, so enclosed within himself, within his bubble, personal space was something that Otabek treasured and appreciated. Naturally, he felt the same about other people's. Even though Yuri had just taken the before vacant side of the bed on his own, it didn't make it more acceptable to invade his bubble. Perhaps Otabek felt so suffocated because he wanted to touch Yuri. And that went against everything that he believed in, so it was hard to breathe; it was hard to speak. Because he wanted to _touch_ Yura and couldn't-- _wouldn't_ , he had dismissed permissions altogether. It was a form of self-control, or just to make himself believe that he was still in control. Actually, that was no way of thinking-- he _was_ in control. He couldn't bear to live otherwise. If he lost the reins of his own body, there would be nothing more that he would have a say on. His mind already sabotaged him enough on its own.   
          _If he tries to put it in you, will you take it for him?_  
          He honestly did not know. It was nothing worth thinking about anyway. If Otabek was certain of one thing, even if it were only self-indulgent - because it didn't really matter -, was that, with every inch of his being, he wanted Yuri. However, that notion never came with the image of a beautiful blonde Russian boy writhing beneath him. Even the automatic picture that appeared in his mind of a scene like that made him feel sullied. The feelings that he had  for Yuri, even if he didn't believe in things like the out-of-body concept of love, came from the thoughts of him and how he balanced the chemicals in Otabek's brain. Those thoughts that turned into feelings easily overwhelmed simple, saturated sexual attraction.   
          "So, what are you into? White noise? ASMR?"  
          "Would you do ASMR for me?" Otabek teased.   
          "I'd gladly find something on YouTube. Then get the fuck away from here and leave my phone with you ‘cause that shit's just creepy."  
         The Kazakh laughed. He thought the same thing. Peach talked about "tingles" that Otabek never experienced when he found the guy sleeping on the couch with those videos of people tapping their nails on their teeth. Yuuri said that he did feel them, but they didn't help him fall asleep, since he became too aware of them and his anxiety didn't appreciate that.   
         _I'm into your voice._ "I'm fine with good, old talking."  
         Yuri chuckled suddenly. "You know, your accent is fucking adorable."  
        "What are you talking about?"  
        "It comes out more when you're tired. I noticed it yesterday, but thought that it was just your way of talking." He said, still sounding like he was  having fun. "I'd never heard a Michigan accent before, but now that I heard your family I'm hyper aware of it."  
        _Was that really what you were paying attention to?_  
        "Shall I humour you?" Otabek cleared his throat. He was a linguistics geek, so he had deliberately let go of the most characteristic sounds, but it was no trouble bringing  them back. " _Yuh_ guys drink _melk_? I only drink pop."  
       "What the hell is 'pop'?!" Yuri asked, confused.  
       "Literally soda." Otabek explained. "What else _my ' spose tuh_ drink goin' _tuh_ the _wuds_ in my _Tie-ota_?"  
       Yuri thought it was so funny, he couldn't stop letting out the most heartwarming laugh that room had ever heard. The blonde even playfully pushed the Kazakh's shoulder. He was just adorable as a whole.   
      " _What'cha_ laughin' at? _Aren'tcha yoosta_ this _ki-nuh_ accent?"  
      Otabek could tell that Yura had shifted to lie on his back and he had a hand on his stomach as he was still giggling and gasping for air. "That doesn't..." He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head as he laughed. "... sound like you at all!"  
      The Kazakh joined him in that fit of laughter because it was _so_ true. The  fonectics of the words were just wrong. He hadn't spoken that way since he was a kid. "I was raised in Detroit, Yura, you can ask the family's _real-uh-tor._ "  
       "Okay. Alright. Then how should I roast the bitch while I'm at it?"  
       Yuri was really keen on hearing Otabek offend people. He had to think about it for a second, because he was not letting out the "fuck off" that the blonde  would die to hear. And it sounded the same in a Michigan accent, so...  
       " _Did-juh _ look in the _meer_ before _yuh_ picked out those _cloze_?"  
       Then Yuri just cackled. "What the fuck was that?! Are you six?" And he turned to face the Kazakh again. "You're so cute."  
       And the fact that even that whole conversation had worked to make Otabek feel, at least, mentally weightless proved that it really didn't matter what exactly they were doing. If it was him that was there, Otabek could fall asleep eventually. It was true that his body was begging for rest. He even put a hand over his mouth to yawn.   
        "Sleepy yet?" Yuri asked, his voice going back to its normal tone.  
        Beka nodded. It seemed like he had strained himself a bit too much that night.  
        "Do you want me to go?"  
        The Kazakh had to hold the urge to shake his head. "If you want to."  
        "Is there anything else that helps you sleep? I can't sing for shit, so no lullabies."  
        "Nothing specific." _Just stay where you are._  
       There was another second of silence before Yuri's voice was no more than a whisper. "My grandpa used to do this thing where... he would tell me stories and, then, like, write the main words on my face with his fingertip... If I closed my eyes and tried to make them out, it helped me sleep. Wanna try it?"  
       Beka had to run his own hand up the bed to find Yuri's by his side. He felt like a child, thinking that it was finally going to go back where it belonged. Therefore, he took blonde's hand to his cheek again. And he closed his eyes, absolutely at home. Nobody had touched where Yuri was touching that night, he decided. Nothing other than Yuri's long, cold fingers would reach his skin so easily again.  
       "What kind of story do you wanna hear?"  
       "Yours." Otabek replied absent-mindedly.   
       "Mine, huh?" Yuri sighed, then his thumb made the curve of the Kazakh's cheekbone. "Okay."  
      If Otabek fell asleep inside that lucid dream, where would he wake up? He wished - and he knew that he was only being hopelessly romantic - that Yuri's touch would be enough to ground his conscience in that world, where he existed, where he fell asleep easily, where he loved a person - where that was still possible.   
         
       Then he started from the beginning.

       Yuri was born in London "for the hell of it". His mother thought that it would be more lavish, and the tabloids thrived on it as well. They were, however, back in Moscow as soon as mom and baby got the doctor's permission to fly. They lived in a house with too much staff and too many rooms. And they had to use them, that was why his mother and father slept in separate ones - at least, that was what five-year-old Yuri thought.  
        As a kid, he had a nanny and a tutor who lived in the house. The blonde spent most of his childhood around them instead of his parents. The tutor was let go after Yuuri started at the British International School in Moscow, because he had only been hired to teach him to read, write and do simple Math, besides "building" his character. After he started School, he had to learn actual conversational English and he remembered being mocked by the naturally English-speaking children for his Russian accent, so he worked hard on losing it - which was the reason why he worked hard to lose his British accent when he came to America, not that anyone had had the chance to hear it first.  
        When the kids found out who Yuri's father was, seeing him being picked up by a nanny, a driver and a security guard, they were fascinated. When their parents found out, they had the kids be nice and try to be friends with him. He thought it was awesome that his dad was such a big deal. That he lived in a house those kids' parents invited themselves to. Yuri thought that he was lucky, even though he didn't quite understand what his father's job was and it was just "the norm that mom was in magazines". By the way, he felt lucky for that too, when he was younger. That he looked so much like his mother.  
      "Until I realized that they were both scum."  
      Yuri said that it didn't matter, so he continued, making Cyrillic on Otabek's cheek.  
      He left school when the Dietrich scandal broke out. They tried to keep him at the school as long as they could, even though Yuri himself had relentlessly asked to leave because the kids had done a "complete 180" and they left coins on his desk "so he wouldn't have steal them" or stole his money themselves because "they were just getting their parents' cash back". The press, however, started harassing teachers and the directors - "even that creepy bald-ass Dennis threatened to quit" -, therefore he was expelled from there.  
        And then he hated the house and the magazines only caught his mother sneaking, hiding in St. Petersburg. The nanny was fired just a little after the Government took the house and he had to move. Since his mother had said it was too stressful to bring him with her, he stayed at Lilia and Yakov's. Viktor visited when he could, but the scandal hadn't touched him - he still traveled a lot for work.  His grandparents were stressed and depressed each, so it was the first time he spent most of his days unattended.   
        He was able to start watching more anime freely, then, so "that was good". And then there were no more teachers to stop him from drawing on his notebooks. So that was what he did, while his entire world crumbled to pieces: Yuri drew. They didn't even hire a new tutor for him because his grandparents didn't trust anyone inside their house. He didn't go outside, he didn't see anyone. Not even Mila and Moira because their family had also fled the country. Yuri was _bored_. Drawing was all that he had, all that he did (although he was still embarrassed by it at the time and didn't want anyone to see)  
         Otabek started drifting in and out of sleep after that. He was able to pick up Yura talking about YuYu Hakusho, saying  that Hiei was the first character that he tried to draw. Then he spent more and more time sleeping and less and less time awake. Beka was almost certain that Yuuri had gotten Potya at that age because Viktor didn't want him to be lonely, so he convinced his mother to allow her in the house.   
        When Otabek drifted back to consciousness again, he thought too much time had passed and that Yuri had probably left because he didn't hear his voice anymore. It took a second to realize that he was still being touched by Yuri and that the teen was still pretending to write on his face with his fingertip that was no longer cold. That was how used he'd grown to feeling that touch. Otabek felt "asleep?" being written in the middle of the question. Well, he was asleep enough to have no will-power to open his eyes, so he thought "Yeah. You did a good job there". The most that the Kazakh could do was try to continue making out the symbols that Yura drew on his skin.   
  
_ Я_  
_B_  
_A_  
_M_  
_ Я bam...?_  
_H_  
_P_  
_A_  
_B_  
_ Л_  
_ Ю_  
_C_  
_ Ь_  
_?_  
_ Я вам нравлюсь?_  
_Do you like me?_

  
          Oh, that hand had really been enough to keep him in the dream. _Baby angel, you still have to ask?_

 

* * *

 

 

       Otabek woke up the next morning thinking it was already afternoon until he got up and unlocked his cellphone. He'd actually been woken up just a few hours earlier when Yuuri went to his room  to give him medicine. Thanks to that, he guessed, he felt a hundred times better than the day before. Well, thanks to Yuuri and the medicine, a good night's sleep, his parents being gone and Yuri Plisetsky. Lastly only because it was surreal to admit that Yura had nursed him to sleep. "You owe me Tokyo Ghoul - Yuri." was written in the first page of the notepad Otabek kept on his desk. Beka wouldn't put that in the envelope with the drawing, he was going to leave it on the first page for him to see every time he opened it. Also, he was going to have the other piece of paper that had the painter's signature on framed later on that day. Firstly, however, he needed a shower.   
       "Smells good!" The Kazakh exclaimed on the way to the bathroom. Katsuki was making lunch.   
       "An hour and a half to go!" His friend shouted back. He was making something fancy.  
      Viktor would probably come to lunch, then. Of course, he'd come with Yuri and had to  take him home, so he hadn't slept over. It was pleasantly peaceful having only the both of them in the house. Phichit and Leo were nice enough, but Yuuri and Otabek made no noise whatsoever. The Kazakh brushed his teeth first, then he felt like he washed the sickness away in the shower and changed to what he would've worn as pajamas the night before - a black T-shirt and sweatpants.   
       Dahlia called when Otabek was on the way to the kitchen to keep Yuuri company. She said "good morning". He said it back. She asked him how he was feeling. He said "fine". She asked what he was doing. He said "nothing". Then she asked if she could come over.  
       "Sure." He replied.  
       "Was that Dahlia?" Yuuri asked, pouring Otabek coffee. He nodded. "Do you want to talk about yesterday?"  
       "About the colossal disaster that it was to have them here?"  
       "It was bad, huh..." Yuuri noted like he was being tortured to admit it. The Kazakh only lifted his brows over his mug in agreement. "Sorry I forgot to tell Viktor that they were here."  
       Beka shook his head and put his mug down. "No, that was not something you should have to concern yourself with. I just should've told them to stay away from here from the get-go."  
       Katsuki honestly looked like someone was ripping off his nails to get him to tell the truth. "I won't argue with that this time. You shouldn't be near people who think it's okay to hit you, no matter who it is."  
       He couldn't help but smirk. That hadn't shocked him in the slightest. "The problem was the way they treated you and Viktor. And Yuri."  
       "You know that I don't mind, right?" The Japanese man asked, then pressed his lips together. "Vitya gets more intense with his protectiveness--"  
       "That's not being intense, Yuuri, he obviously doesn't want the people he loves being mistreated and the guy goes and offends his boyfriend and his nephew at once? I mean, fuck. I've punched people for less."  
       "You're right." Yuuri replied as he rubbed his palms together. Otabek could read his mind. _ "I'm sorry I don't have any nice things to say." _  
       "Thank you for putting up with it all these years." Beka told him, ruffling his hair. "And tell Viktor that I'm sorry for the whole thing."  
       The look on Katsuki's face suddenly changed and it seemed like the roles had switched. He grabbed Otabek's free hand with both of his.  
        "He _knows_ that, Kin. He was trying to protect you, too."

 

* * *

 

 

      Dali arrived looking like she had rolled out of bed and put sunglasses on. Otabek felt sorry for resenting her, since it must have been disheartening to witness the events of the night before when she had such resolve, was so determined to believe that something like that would not happen. She must've been tired, and she'd probably apologized to Reina the whole night through.  
      "Can we talk?" was the first thing that she said.  
      Her and Reina got inside and Yuuri greeted them excitedly. Ray shyly mustered a "Hello" and "Good morning". Dahlia couldn't match the Japanese man's tone no matter how much she tried.  
     "I'm just gonna talk with my brother for a little bit, okay? I'll be right back." Dali told her girlfriend in Kazakh as she sat her on the couch.   
     "She can come--" Otabek tried to clarify.  
     "It's okay, I wanna talk with you alone."  
     Beka took her to his bedroom after that. The woman got in first and took the chair, turning it around to face the bed. Otabek sat in front of her. Dahlia still had her sunglasses on and her head down, looking at the ground. Maybe she'd been crying. He was ready to listen to anything.   
     "First of all..." She started "Thanks for not rubbing all over my face how stupid I was."  
     "You're not stupid, Dali."  
    "As I was saying, thanks." She sniffed and rubbed the back of her hand on her nose. "But you were right, Bek. I desperately wanted to fix everything, but I can't do that. I wanted our family to go right for once, you know? And every time things went wrong, I was just, like, 'next time it is'" She smirked, but there was so much sadness in her voice that she couldn't hold it for long. "Now it's just like I'd been waiting for the day when dad would hit you again."  
      It broke Otabek's heart that her voice cracked. He’d had to watch her get hit countless times before and he remembered it vividly, the powerlessness, the desperate need to believe that it wasn't real. 

      "Don't cry, apkeya"  
      "I'm not." She lied, with her fingers tucked inside the shades. "You know, some part of me wished that Ray would find a new family with us, isn't that just absurd? She was so scared. I can't believe I put you both through that." Dahlia looked up and sniffed again. She took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. She had definitely been crying, and not only just that time. "I'm not seeing them anymore, Bek. You're my little brother and _you're_ my family, you're the only family that I have."  
      "Dali..."  
      "Listen." She demanded. "I'm not moving to Detroit anymore. Whenever we are able to leave Astana, I'm coming here to be close to you. I know you're not alone and that Yuuri-san takes better care of you than I ever did--"  
     Otabek pulled her to place her forehead on his shoulder. Only with them both sitting down and from that distance their difference in height would allow that to happen. She wasn't shy about crying after that. "You go wherever you feel at home. Only make it so that 'home' is where you're safe." He felt her nodding. "Just know California is freaking expensive."  
     She laughed softly and pulled away. Otabek couldn't help but feel relieved that she had finally realized it, even though it was heart-breaking to see the disappointment in her eyes.  
      "You look better." Dali pointed out.  
      "I am."  
      "I wish I'd met your Yuri under different circumstances."  
      Beka chuckled. "Me too."  
      "But it was nice to see that he had it all out to protect you. Both him and Viktor, even though they could've just up and left after the first sign of trouble."  
      "They're really not that kind of people, Dali. That's what I'm talking about. You don't need to get involved with people who will just up and leave you alone, you know?"  
      She offered  him a smile. "You've grown wise, little brother."  
      There was something simply strange about being called that by his big sister. Otabek tried to shrug  it off and get up. "Come on, your girlfriend's waiting."  
      Although she did get up as well, Dahlia stopped with her arms wide open, waiting for him to come and hug it out. Beka hesitated just because he was embarrassed by it, but he gave in pretty quickly and she squeezed him tightly.   
      "I love you~!" Dali exclaimed making a baby voice that made Otabek tap her back and pull away.  
       However, he stopped when he opened the door and offered his fist for her to bump. "Ditto."

 

* * *

 

 

  
        They had luch together after Viktor arrived. The subject of the night before didn't come up until after they were eating because there was some conversation going on that Otabek wasn't paying attention to at all, but his senses sure became sharp when he heard Viktor tell Dahlia "Oh, Otabek and Yurochka even slept together last night."  
        _Why did all of them have to speak so suggestively?_  
        "I was the only one who slept." Otabek felt the need to clarify.  
        "How can you be sure?" Yuuri asked, the son of bitch who'd blame it on two drops of red wine.   
        "Not even a _power_ nap?" Dahlia teased, pinching her brother's side under the table.  
        "Are you crazy?!" Beka clapped back.  
        "Mm. How about just a nap?"  
        Viktor had his head tilted to the side and a grin on when he asked it. Otabek gave up. He must have groaned, then he pushed his plate away and rested his forehead on his arms that he'd crossed on the table. He could not win against that many people.  
        "Come on," Katsuki ruffled his hair. "We're just teasing you."

         _Really? I hadn't noticed._

        "No need to be shy because I'm his uncle." Viktor said. "It's up to you two, but, for what it's worth, I support you. That reminds me! Can we have a word in private?"  
       With that, Otabek was made to look at the Russian man sitting in front of him. His eyes did reflect exacly what he had said. The Kazakh got up and they headed outside, although Beka's chest still felt tight. He couldn't uncross his arms even though he knew that it was rude and unnecessary.  
       "Last night, my first instinct was to take Yuri back home as soon as he was recognized." Viktor started, sternly. Otabek nodded. Of course he would've wanted that. "I'm always scared that he'll be hurt, so I try to take proper measures to avoid it... However, I wanted to see what you would do. I knew about your trauma with them and I still tested you. For that, I apologize. It was selfish of me."  
       "What did you want to see?"  
      Viktor shrugged. "Exactly what you did, even though I could  tell that you were afraid, you stood up to protect Yuri. It was really brave from your part."  
      "It was my fault that he was even put in that situation."  
      "That's not true. Things aren't always black and white, so I guess we just have to trust that people do the best that they can and that they still care about the ones that they love. You obviously do."  
      He couldn't deny that. He did care; deeply, whole-heartedly about Yuri.  
      "For a long time I thought I was the only one who could protect him." The blue eyed-man said. "Because, for a long time, I was the only one who did. Also I'd never seen him get that angry for someone else after everything happened. I don't think he cared about anyone enough for that."  
       "Yuri's really been... to me..."  The Kazakh tried to come up with an adjective. Everything flashed in his mind. None, in every language that he knew, felt enough. "Just exceptional."  
      The Russian man showed him a grin. "I'm glad to hear that." He replied, then changed the grin to a heart-shaped smile and started speaking way too fast from excitement "Also, I love your sister! Can we hang out? I didn't want to ask in front of her because I don't know if there's still any tension, but you're invited to come tomorrow to have some beers! We'll set up the karaoke and make a fun little get-together, what do you think?!"

 

* * *

 

 

         Otabek still found it nerve-wrecking to be at at the Russians' building. To his surprise, however, the one who opened the door to the apartment, that time,was Yuri himself, with his hair still wet, wearing a hoodie from the university that looked large on him and jean shorts. Beka remembered, from the other time, that he had made a point in his head that the blonde sounded like a teenager when he was at home. He looked like one, too. It was a good thing. To top that, he looked beautiful without eye-liner on. Contrary to what a man with no knowledge of make-up would expect, Yuri's eyes were naturally rounder and wider. It made him appear even younger than he was. _Fresh out of the shower, huh?_ Yuri surprised  Otabek again with a hug, then greeted Dahlia and Reina.  
         "She doesn't speak a lot of English." The Kazakh's sister let the teen know.  
         "Pусский?" He asked.   
          _Russian?_ Damn, he could never get over Yuri's voice in his first language. It reminded him that it was also in that apartment that he heard it for the first time. It was also the first time  Otabek heard Reina giggle to someone else.   
         "Pусские работы." _Russian works_ , she said.   
         The blonde told Katsuki that Viktor was still in the shower, in English, then switched to Russian to say that there was food and booze in the kitchen. Yuri left to change after that. The apartment looked the same, however there were colored lights hung on the living room walls. Otabek only listened as Ray told her girlfriend how unreal and doll-like Yuri looked. He knew he had a smirk on because he couldn't help it and Yuuri started telling them stories about when he'd met the blonde and the days that followed. The fact that not only Otabek, but his best friend and sister were at Yuri's house got him to feel a strange  sense of familiarity mixed with the opposite of it. Like when he had moved to Cali and it was all new furniture and sunlight, but Yuuri's cooking still tasted the same and they still spoke Japanese. Otabek put his earphones on, just so they would be there when Viktor arrived and it wouldn't be impolite to turn to them in case he felt out of place. Specially if the promised karaoke session did happen.   
       Yuuri started freaking out when the door bell rang again: If Viktor and Yuri weren't there to open it, should he? Would that be crossing the line? But Viktor appeared from the hallway, exclaiming quick greetings, jogging to give his boyfriend a peck on the lips and running over to the door. Mila came in wearing a mini black dress with some white pattern that Otabek couldn't quite make out and metallic Oxford shoes. Her and Yuri had similar taste in clothes; both of them dressed like they were born and raised in Los Angeles. Meanwhile, Beka was wearing the  same sleeveless black shirt and pants ripped on the knees. The only thing that stood out in his clothes was that his pants had chains that dangled on the side, but that was just an extension to the accessories he wore to occasions like those.  
        Plisetsky - wearing a Nirvana shirt that was torn in every possible way, slashed and cigarrette-burned, over leggings that would look plain black if he hadn't used yellow socks to pull down and create a rim for them -, came out with no shoes on, hair still looking humid, and gestured for Mila and Otabek to create space for him between them.  
         Bright yellow eyeliner. That was the second thing that Otabek saw after Yuri sat next to him. The first had to be the eyes, those mind-blowing green eyes that absorbed every light in the room. The last time that they'd spoken had been through text - the Kazakh had sent "thanks for yesterday" and Yuri had replied with "I like lullabies. #justsayin". Viktor and Yuuri were standing (setting up the karaoke, apparently).  
        "I'll need to get drunk for this." Katsuki warned.  
        "Oh, I'll grab drinks!" Mila volunteered.  
       That left a whole spot free for Yuri to lay his head on a pillow on the side of the couch and bend his kness over Otabek's thigh, burying his feet under the other. _Familiarity_. When  Otabek turned to catch Yuri's expression, he tilted his chin up to tell the Kazakh to look to the other side. He caught his sister and girlfriend kissing and giggling, which made him happy, but also gave him no one else to talk to. Accepting - and not complaining -, Beka rested his elbow on the back of the couch, then placed his cheek on his relaxed fist, giving up and just staring at Yuri. Because he looked so pretty laying there and the color of his eye-liner changed ever-so-slightly along with the colors of the lights.   
         "How do you say 'get a room' in Kazakh?" Yuri  joked.  
         "You can say that in English, I guarantee the one responsible will understand."  
        Of course Dahlia was listening because she reached behind her and slapped Otabek's shoulder.   
        "Are you jealous, kitten?" Mila appeared behind the couch and offered them both a beer. "You know I'm always here for you."  
        "Fuck off." He scoffed, opening his can. Otabek did the same.   
        The redhead just laughed it off and joined Yuuri and Viktor, who were already picking songs.   
        "American beer? Really?" Yuri yelled with his head turned to his uncle.  
        "American _craft_ beer. Let's appreciate the craft." Viktor replied.  
        "Wow, tasteless _and_ condescending beer. Sure appreciate _that_."  
        Yuri was still drinking it nonetheless. Otabek was still drinking it even though he agreed. The first song was Taylor Swift's Blank Space and Mila sang it as she chugged hers. Yura knew the lyrics to it and he was mouthing them absent-mindedly as Raina and Dali danced in the living room. Yuuri and Viktor disappeared to the kitchen after that. Dali chose Don't Stop Believin' to sing and it suddenly turned into a choir, even the host and his boyfriend reappeared to take part. Then there was a duet of Don't Go Breaking My Heart by Yuuri and Viktor, when everyone sat down and clapped along.  
       Otabek had a hand running up and down Yuri's leg before he noticed. When he did, however, Beka didn't stop. The blonde's legs were still bent and trapping the Kazakh in place, furthermore it only seemed natural. What  made Otabek overthink was imagining what other people would be making of the situation, which probably was that they were too familiar with each other. It would be fine if it were true, but Otabek didn't know. He didn't know if Yura was usually like that. The only thing that he knew was that he didn't touch people so casually himself and that, if his hands had wandered there organically, then he was more familiarized with Yuri than he had given himself credit for.   
        "When are you gonna take the mic?" Yuri asked.  
        Otabek huffed. "Not tonight."  
        "Come on, we can do Bohemian Rhapsody. You'll be Freddie and I'll be the guitar riffs."  
        He laughed. "Will you? We can do the instrumental version."  
        Yuri unburied one foot and kicked the Kazakh's thigh softly with a pout on his face that Otabek found unbearably cute. That one foot never got back under Beka's thigh. Yuri stretched that leg further instead and finished trapping the older man. It was easier in that position, however, to play with Yuri's sock. There was a lot a wiggle room to pull it up, it'd probably go just a little under his knee, but Otabek didn't move it, just kind of kept pinching the elastic fabric and letting it go.   
        The blonde sat up suddenly and grabbed the Kazakh's arm to look at his snake tattoo. He kept turning it around to see how it was wrapped.  
        "When did you get it?"  
        "When I was seventeen."  
        "Was there a reason?"  
        "I left my parents’ house at sixteen and I guess I thought that it would make things right for me, but the damage was done, so I had to either deal with it or let it kill me." It was a beautiful thing that Yuri listened so attentively even though there was out of pitch singing taking over the entire apartment. "I thought I'd acknowledge it, then spend the rest of my life trying to tame it."  
        "Was there never a moment where you thought you could just step on its head?"  
        "All bad things don't just come from the outside, you know? In some way, I'd be stepping on my own head."  
         "Was that ever an option?"  
         "Still is." Otabek replied, contemplating the irony of talking about suicide in a room full of people having fun. Not Yuri. Yuri looked at him with eyes that listened and cared, that wanted to talk about hurting. "I owe you Tokyo Ghoul, though."  
       From that point on, Otabek couldn't read Yuri anymore. It seemed like far in the book the language changed, at least oscillated with dialect so old one had to have lived through its time to understand it. His lip did curl up at the sides and he called Otabek an idiot under his breath before hugging his knees and letting one of the Kazakh's legs free once more. Otabek had never been that caught on something. He tilted his head further down and got on Yuri's level again.  
        "Do _you_ think about it?" _It_ being the word that would make everyone pay attention (because no one looked unless "suicide"  was written across one's  forehead).  
        "Isn't that the whole premise of  how we met?"  
        _You looked like you wanted to jump off. Fucking same._  
        Beka huffed. "That's true." He wondered if he should push any further.  
        "What do you do when..." His voice was small and muffled. "You know, when it gets worse than normal."  
       The Kazakh was pulled in by that choice of words. Not when "it gets bad", which was what everyone said. _Worse than normal_. Before answering,  Otabek replayed the words in his head. It sounded like something that would come out only of his own mouth and that whoever was next to him when that happened would slap his lips and tell him not to speak like that. In a certain way, it made Beka feel more comfortable, to talk with someone who was not afraid to change the concept of "normal". Because it changed from one person to the other and if, for them, they lived with thoughts that weren't normal, then the act itself of thinking them was.   
       "I come over to jump off _your_ balcony." Beka joked and showed a smirk. He saw the grin on Yuri's face, but his eyes were shining like he was about to cry. He sighed. "I write, drink, cry in the shower," the Kazakh huffed "have sex with people I don't know nor want to know..."  
       His sister finished her song before Otabek could return the question, and the blonde himself didn't let him do it after.  
       "Сиди здесь, я слишком долго его одалживаю" Yuri said, gesturing to the two vacant spots on the couch.  
       _Sit here, I've been borrowing him for too long._  
       The fear of being left behind was too real. Otabek suddenly had nothing to do with his hands, and there was space for him to even manspread if he so wanted. He read Yuri's shirt as he left to the kitchen. "Flower sniffin', kitten pattin', baby kissin', corporate rock whores". Mila's dress had tiny sunflowers printed on it, but Otabek didn't care. He had no fucking idea what to do with that information. What he _could_ do was talk about Nirvana and the people in rock who kept clean, smelling flowers, patting cats and kissing babies. What did Yuri do when it got worse than normal? And where was he going? Also, he hadn't been borrowing him for too long, it had hardly been any time at all. Even if he had borrowed  Otabek since March the first, there was still time. In the middle of his train of thought, Otabek got pissed at the word "borrow" and its absurdly inconvenient antonym. Who the hell was Yuri supposed to return him to? His sister? Who had a girlfriend who she adored and could not get her hands off of? To Yuuri? Who had a boyfriend that was everything to him and he could not live without? Back to his family, who couldn't give two fucks about him and had never even tried to understand what he was about? _Damn it, take me._ He was getting greedy. He was too self-absorbed.   
       "Where's Yuri?" Viktor asked, still on the microphone.   
       Otabek turned to the kitchen and Yuri wasn't there anymore.   
       "Is he back in the damn studio?!" Mila complained, obviously irritated.  
       "Oh, no, if he's not with Otabek, he's at the balcony. He was decorating it this afternoon."  
      The words connected to that balcony took Otabek to a terrifying place. In a single conversation, now he associated it with jumping off and all he could think of was how high up they were. Yuri's sparkling eyes. The way that his lips curled up. He didn't even have to jump, just the thought of him looking down at that "ridiculous water fountain" thinking about it, contemplating it, for reasons that Otabek still had never heard, could never ask... It made his chest feel tighter and make it harder to breathe. It was as though his body was asking him for fresh air, but he didn't know if it meant going outside or just being near Yuri. It just turned out to mean the same thing. He was _not_ going  to be returned to the room with Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline playing in the background while there was clearly Nirvana living and breathing and thinking about death on the other side of the glass.   
       Beka got up and he did so as casually  as possible. No one was paying attention to him anyway, he hadn't even noticed the amount of beers that had passed on those people's hands until he was stepping over cans. When he got closer, Otabek could already catch a glimpse of different colors on the floor and white lights hanging on the inside of the glass fence. It'd been a while since he had last absorbed that view and how wild it was that he could do so. The first time, because Yuuri wanted to be with Viktor so badly. _Now_ , _because_ _I_ _want_ _to_ _be_ _with_ _Yura_ _so_ _much_. 

        Otabek looked down, still leaning on the fence, when he heard Potya meowing.   
        "Don't move." Yuri ordered behind him.  
        How the hell had that man snuck up on him again? It was his house, though. And Yuri had just been sitting in a blind spot from the outside looking in. The Kazakh looked back and Yuri had a large notebook in hand and a piece  of charcoal. Otabek huffed, it was a nice thought to remember. There were throw-pillows all over the floor and fur blankets underneath them. They were all colorful and in vivid red, yellow, purple and green. It brought a lot of warmth to that visually cold, conceptually morbid balcony.   
       "Viktor was wondering where you were."  
       "Was that just him? 'Cause I live here, he'll find me eventually."  
       Yuri was still drawing, looking at the paper.   
      "I was wondering where you were." Beka corrected.  
      As much as that had been hard for Otabek to voice, Yuri continued drawing and the Kazakh did not move. He made himself stare at the city lights until Yuri sighed and left his notebook on his crossed legs.  
      "I draw." He said, and Otabek turned to lean back. "When it gets worse, I draw or paint. I do painful things to myself and let people I don't know nor want to know do painful things to me."  
     Other than the piercing pain that he felt in his heart when he heard it, Otabek didn't know how to take that or what to say. If he should say anything at all. It made it even harder for him to stay quiet and not give anything back because he was uncontrollably thankful. He knew or, at least, had a faint idea of how difficult it was to say things like that out loud. How hard it was to choose who to say them to. It made Otabek crouch down opposite to Yuri and study him, trying to figure out if he had said it on a whim or if he had taken the time to decide that he would. The blonde gave him the notebook. It was open on the page of the drawing of a fence and the city lights, the view of the hills, the silhouette of Otabek, and Potya sitting next to him.  
       "So this is what charcoal looks like." The Kazakh noted.  
       "It's what I've been seeing when I come here." Yuri said and it made Otabek helplessly look at him.  "On that night, I came here to get the fuck away from my family. I'd done it so many other times. You know,  I'd look down and I’d think 'I could get away for good if I just had the guts'. But then you were there, and you looked like you'd been crying... It was fun to tease you." Yura gave him a smile. "I never thought I'd see you in this apartment, let alone _here_ , here."  
        Otabek sat down, still with the notebook on his lap.  
        "I think ever since you asked me why then I've been wanting give you an actual answer." He continued. "But I don't know when that will be, and I don't even know if I can do it. I haven't asked if you wanted to hear it either--"  
        "I do." Beka interrupted and tried to sound as certain as he felt. "Anything that you feel comfortable to tell, no matter when that is, I want to listen." But he didn't forget to clarify: "Anything that you don't, Yura, I don't need to know."   
         "I'll tell you one thing." The Russian lifted his index finger to represent it. "I love it when you call me Yura."  
         Otabek wasn't old enough not to smile like an idiot and then be embarrassed by it and look  down. "You started it."  
         He could hear the joy in Yuri's voice. Otabek was glad that it was there again. "Yeah, but it's not like I'm close enough to anyone that they will call me that, and the people in my family call me Yurochka."  
         "Or Yurio." The Kazakh teased.  
         "I don't answer to that." Yuri let out a puking sound.  
          Otabek laughed and dared to look at him again. It was just a timeless, relentless wonder that he existed. In a universe where he believed people came out of nothing and nowhere, to have someone whose random upbringing had ended up creating the perfect set of traits and quirks and flaws was miracle in and of itself. Yuri was the imperfect son of beauty and madness, and Otabek knew that that was a line that  he should only take seriously to apply on his writing, but he was going to let himself indulge.  
          "No one I'm close to calls me the way you do."  
          "Liar."  
          "It's true. If they did, I wouldn't let them."  
          Yuri squeezed his eyes. "Not even your sister?"  
         _Oh my God, especially my sister._ "Not even her."  
         Potya rubbed her nose on Otabek's shoulder and, at first, he thought she just wanted him to get out of her way, so he turned around and left her free to pass, but all she did was walk between his legs and rub her nose on his stomach. Otabek smiled at how cute she was and pat her head, then she lied down on his thigh.  
          "Fuck me, even _she_ likes you." Yuri complained.  
          The Kazakh laughed, running his fingers in her fur. "Is that bad?"  
          "Yeah, now I have no excuses."  
          Beka wasn't even sure if he had heard it right because his heart stopped. Thank God he had his back towards Yuri because Otabek wouldn't have known how to react to that. What did he mean? Was it a stretch to think that they'd gone past casual flirting? Even beyond that, there was no way Yuri Plisetsky could like-- _ugh_ , he didn't even have the courage to use that word. There was no way that Yuri looked at him as anything more than a new friend. _Right?_ But, damn, he was happy. And he cursed the fuck out of that feeling because it was a dangerous, calculating monster that invited children in with candy only to slice them up and swallow them whole, sugar and all. Even sweet little  Potya walked away when Otabek got his hand off of her.  
            Yuri laughed. "Or maybe I do."  
            Otabek turned his head to look at the blonde and he was putting chapstick on, the blue one. _Bubblegum. So he kissed Mila with that on._ It had a very strong smell and Beka could already imagine how it tasted. He doubted Yuri's lips tasted better with it on, but it was true that seeing him putting it got  Otabek's head on a twist. The way that he pressed his lips together after got the Kazakh thinking that he was weaker than he'd thought.   
            _Only responding in sketchy clubs if someone made a move on him, going as far as they wanted to go, fucking them if they wanted to be fucked, but never keeping them, never going after them. Never sleeping over, never having breakfast. Never kissing first. _  
_Never kissing first._  
_Never kissing first._  
  All it took was Yuri catching him looking again, and staring at him, waiting. _Beautiful, so beautiful that it beats if I would know how to hold you._ It had taken him that long to do something, anything, about that feeling. Would he just ruin it because of one loose thought one night?  Yura might not want it and that would just be the perfect excuse, if he was looking for one. If Yuri told him that they couldn't be friends because Otabek had other intentions, that would be fair. It wouldn't be entirely true, but if he did something about it would be, at least, partly so.   
         "Yura." Otabek said, and he was never going to call him anything else again, because  he loved being called Yura.   
         "Yeah?" The blonde voiced, still waiting, with his lips slightly parted, like he always did.  
         Yuri had absolutely no idea of how ethereal he looked just sitting there, with his blonde hair tucked behind his ears, but not being able to keep strands from going astray and falling. _You don't know this, but I'll love you forever._ Otabek knew that he had the stupidest grin on his face. He also knew that his heart was beating out of his chest, just threatening to burst if he didn't say it.   
         "Can I kiss you?"  
         _No matter what, I'll love you forever._  
         Yura could only see his face, so Otabek tried not to let it show that he was breathing erratically.  The blonde's eyes widened for only a moment, then they were back to normal, bright and waiting, not for Otabek this time, for himself. He was considering it. At least that the Kazakh was able to understand. Beka was leaning back, with his arms stretched out behind him, supporting himself on his palms. As much as he wanted to look back ahead or just pretend that he had never said anything, he was  as fascinated with Yuri as he had always been and he could watch him press his lips together for  as long as he was allowed to.  
          Then Yura crawled over and stopped beside Otabek. Every inch that he got closer, it felt like his heartstrings were braiding themselves. It also felt like a hallucination. Yuri got on his knees and he reopened his chapstick. Beka stole glances of his face as he rubbed it on his thumb, but he honestly did not know how think then, he was as good as brain-dead. Until it came, the shock of Yuri's fingers on his neck colder than they had ever been and the smell of bubblegum consuming the Kazakh's nostrils as the teen transferred the chapstick, slowly, but still dragging it, moving Beka's lips with his thumb however he wanted. He was just like a vision, standing tall over Otabek, looking at him with such hesitation in his eyes, but also a hint of desire that the Kazakh had never been able to see on them before.   
         "You can touch me from the neck down." Yuri said in one breath, as if he had also been holding it in, and kissed Otabek, the same way that he had done with his thumb, slowly, but with such pressure that the Kazakh forgot that maybe Yuri didn't look at him that way. Maybe they couldn't be friends anymore after that. Otabek gladly kissed him back.   
         And he remembered saying, when asked how to be a good-kisser, that no matter who they kiss, no matter where, no matter when, that kissing people like you loved them was what made it feel good. If he was right, then two people had never loved each other as much as Yuri and Otabek that night.   
        He could taste the bubblegum, of course, but he was more impressed by how soft Yuri's lips were and how he dragged on his kisses, like he was savoring every moment of it. Otabek could only remember to move anything other than his mouth when he got to feel Yuri's tongue against his. Then one of his hands were on the blonde's back, the other still supported, not only him, but _them_ on the ground.   
         Beka could only hear the sound of their breathing and the smacking from their wet, intense making out. He only opened his eyes to catch glimpses of Yuri whose skin was turning red, but,  _damn,_ he  was caught dead when Yuri looked back at him with dazed green eyes.  That seemed to have awakened something in them, because Yuri moved one of his legs to the other side of Otabek and that made him sit up to sustain that position, placing one hand on his leg, touching the crease that formed where he bent his knee, keeping him in place, and the other going up Yuri's left thigh. All the while Yuri kept his on Otabek's face and the other in his hair, pulling it lightly, as if Beka would mind if he did it roughly.   
          Fuck, he could get drunk on that. It only got faster and wetter, and their breathing was louder, harder to catch. The fabric of Yuri's leggings was too thin and it was easy to reach under his loose shirt, but Otabek didn't. What he did do was crumple it his palms when his hands grabbed Yuri's waist and pulled him closer until Yuri was straddling him. And that was a motion that caught both of them off guard and made them stop for a second.  
           "Sorry, I didn't ask if _I_ could kiss you." Yuri said, still trying to catch his breath, with lips slightly swollen and in a shade between pink and purple that was suddenly  Otabek's favorite color.   
           The Kazakh smiled in reply and gave him a peck on the cheek. He could cry. He could honestly cry. He buried his head on Yuri's shoulder and hugged his waist tightly. Otabek could feel Yuri's arms wrapping around his neck, and the blonde kissed his hair. _Could never, would never win against him. Not with an army of "me"._  
          "They're still singing." Yuri pointed out, and giggled to himself. "Boring."  
          Beka's lips formed a smile and then they were leaving a trail of kisses up Yuri's jaw ultil they found his lips again. The blonde was quick to follow, running his hand up Otabek's arm, until it found the spot, half on the neck and half on the jaw, where he liked to keep it, and slowly led Otabek down, only stopping when his back was on top of all the throw  pillows.  No, that—  _that_ was the best  position to touch Yuri's thighs, to press down the whole way up to his back, under his shirt. Otabek didn't dare to reach beyond that first meeting of skin, his heart could not bear it.  
         When Yuri pulled away, panting, Otabek had never seen so much black in that green.  
         "I just _really_ like bubblegum." Yuri said, and he smiled, his thumb tracing  Otabek's bottom lip again.  
         Beka smiled back at him - the taste of the chapstick had long disappeared. Then he stretched his neck to catch the blonde's lips again and turn them around. When he was on top of Yuri, Otabek stopped and just looked at him, took him in, tried to grasp what had just happened and... _how_. Since how long had he wanted it so badly? Did kissing ever feel so good? Was it always that exhilarating? Just looking at that face, of that person that he adored so much he could not breathe,  Otabek knew that it hadn't. It'd never felt that good. Because he was always kissing people _like_ he loved them. None of it had ever been real. Because he loved Yuri, as they kissed, he was out of control of himself too. He couldn't  make the decision to kiss him in a specific way, he just did and that was honestly the best kind of high he had ever been.  
         "I like _you_." Beka said easily, because he knew his feelings grew miles deeper.  
         The blonde's expression became softer and he huffed, moving one of his hands up Otabek's shoulder to his neck, then down and up again, pressing his nape with long fingers as he caressed the Kazakh's jawline with his thumb.  
        "What now?" Yuri asked, with a small voice and unwavering green eyes.  
         _What now?_ It was a good question.  Otabek didn't feel like answering it then. People shouldn't make decisions when they were that happy. He was just glad that they had met and that they were there, together, around colorful throw pillows and a cat, not looking down a glass fence ten stories up. Otabek supported himself with his right hand and grabbed Yuri's that was on his neck with the other. _Precious_ _you_. He kissed the blonde's pale fingers and didn't let it go as he got off of him and lied down on Yuri's side. He interlocked their fingers.  
         "I'm happy with just this." Beka said, honestly.

 

* * *

 

     In the morning, Otabek wrote "I love you" on Yuri's cheek, and, with one movement of his thumb, he erased it.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's do Yura's perspective next, shall we?


	15. YUЯI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in Yuri's perspective.
> 
> TW: Mention of rape/Abuse

* * *

      

        The touch. The warmth on his cheek. It couldn’t be a dream; he was awake, there was a blur of watered down shades of orange behind his eyelids. It was daytime, and there was someone’s hand on his face. Just like that day. Just like hers. If he hadn’t woken up sooner—No, _if only_ he had woken up sooner. Yuri should just open his eyes. He should slap the hand away. But he didn’t know if the hand held a blade, like it had that day. Yuri didn’t know how close it was to cutting the skin that he had grown to hate. And that made his core twist. He recognized it again, the sheerness in the terror, like an apparition strangling him down in an episode of sleep paralysis.

           _Let go of me._

_(Don’t hurt me)_

The last time that there was a hand on his face, it left it painted red the next time that Yuri looked in the mirror. Then he wasn’t Yuri no more. Young Russian tragedy, trouble child, stray-cat-Plisetsky opened his eyes. He met brown ones and his thoughts became used-to's and not-anymore's. He used to know them. Not anymore. He used to trust the man. Not anymore. Damn, he had been trying so fucking hard. Not anymore. He should have never gotten used to it.

        “What the fuck are you doing?” Yuri wished he could have screamed it.

       Otabek – so that was “who” – pulled his hand away in the same shock that Yuri had pulled his face. What did Yuri look like now? Was he someone different again? What had that man done to him as he stupidly laid there, naively unaware, sleeping like the child that he used to be, but wasn’t anymore. He couldn’t be. Yuri knew that, and he hád still let that person get close enough. Had his mother, after all that time, finally finished it? Had she had the time to pluck his eyelashes one by one as she sang mindlessly an old lullaby about a Northern ancient tale? He needed to look in the mirror. However, he was scared out of his mind about not knowing who it was in the reflection. Again. And the man was still frozen there, in front of Yuri, and he was still as defenseless as a baby in a bassinet. The mattress was on top of a couple wooden pallets and Yuri was able to just drag himself backwards until he reached the wall, but he was goddamn sure if he needed to fall off a bed or drop from a balcony, right then, he would. Terrified, shaken by the internal earthquake that vibrated through his veins, Yuri couldn’t stand the confusion in that man’s eyes. He wasn’t going to be fooled again. Damn it, he shouldn’t have been fooled again. Sleeping soundly next to someone... It wasn’t comfortable, it was a trap. If only he had been awake when Katrina came through the door, he wouldn’t have confused the sound of the scissors with a storm, raging through the windows.

          “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

          _I need to look in the mirror._

“Stay away from me.” Yuri demanded and it seemed to have translated all the hatred that he kept inside. Why did the man look hurt? He was just like her, making it seem like it was all Yuri's fault. Did he mean to get closer? Was he trying to reach out?  _No,  no. No. No. Leave. Leave._ Yuri closed his eyes tighly. **“Get the fuck out!”**

The blonde instantly used both of his palms to cover his face. As soon as he did it, he could feel them start to shake. He didn’t know if he would feel blood there – he shouldn’t have done it. Yuri tried to breathe. There wasn’t any. It was dry. He heard the door close. It got one sigh of relief out of him, but what if he he had just shut it? What if he was still in? What if there was something else? Yuri always had those nasty dreams about acid. What if, as soon as he got his hands away from his face, it was just going to melt off?

      He tried to listen for steps for a while. Even though he didn’t feel safe, the curiosity was eating him alive. He needed to look in the mirror. First, Yuri took his hands away. He kept his eyes closed. He breathed in, and out. Fuck, he couldn’t be that kid. He opened his eyes to find his reddened knees, the carpet, and he crawled as fast as he could in the direction of the mirror, without ever looking up. He was even scared when he got right in front of it and, still looking down, Yuri got up. There wasn’t blood dripping on his feet. They were as red as his knees were. He’d cut his nails too short, it stung when he pressed his toes down.

         Yuri looked up. It was such a tall mirror, he looked so small in front of it, in his black Nirvana shirt from the night before and sweat-shorts that he had changed into because jeans made his thighs itch and him and Beka had stayed up so freaking late. Other than the fists on his sides and trembling lips, Yuri looked the same. It was as though no one had ever touched him. He took a step further, staring deeply into his own eyes. He recognized that person. Yuri Plisetsky, the painter. Viktor Nikiforov’s nephew. Nikolai’s grandson.

           It was Yura.

           The teen led his hand to touch where Beka had touched that morning, and his cheek was smooth and turning red, to match the rest. Because Yuri was going to burst into tears. And they weren’t pretty, they came tearing down barricades. The green of his eyes was too clear in the sunlight; when it flooded, it seemed like there was no color there, if it weren’t for them going bloodshot.

          He fell to his knees. It hurt. But not as much as the guilt that he felt. Not enough. He’d yelled at Beka again. For nothing. He’d gotten scared out of his mind. For nothing. He’d forgotten that years had gone by, that Katrina was countries away, that he’d sworn he wouldn’t turn people into psychopaths like her after what he had done to Viktor. He hated himself for all the same things. Because he hated Dad. Because he hated Mom. Because they had both exploited the right to touch him. And because he’d been blacked out both times. He shouldn’t have gotten close to someone like Beka, his hands were probably stained black when he left – dirty from touching rotten flesh. Yuri felt his nails scratching down his cheek and he could hear his own sobs. That wasn’t it. That wasn’t the pain and that wasn’t the sound. He needed both stronger. He wished he could smash himself into pieces. But, even if he jumped off that balcony, he would still be a whole rotten body in a dirty puddle of rotten blood.

       With both of his hands and still on his knees, with all of the strength that he could muster, Yuri pushed the mirror down. It raged. He could hear the brokenness screaming its despair. It’d never be the same, it’d always be in pieces. It cried as loud as a storm. Yes, that was the sound of a storm, not his mother’s scissors. See? He would’ve been able to tell that if he had been awake. Their screams, of those little pieces of glass, seemed to shut Yuri up. They weren’t whole anymore, they were fatal – and they were powerful. If someone were to touch them, they’d end up bleeding. The glass itself couldn’t do much, but if it was in pieces, oh, fuck, they could do some damage. Yuri didn’t know if he wanted to become one of them or if he had already, and he had cut alarmingly-self-aware Otabek, who must've been bleeding on his way home, making up reasons in his head as to why it had to have been his fault that Yuri was so scared of him in the morning. To think that they were both okay just a few hours before. Yuri turned around to find the pieces scattered on the floor, and he looked down at his fragmented reflection. Now that he thought of it, when he’d asked Otabek what he was doing, Beka had first replied with a question: “Did you have a bad dream?”.

       “Yeah, I’ve had many.” Yuri replied, alone in his bedroom, picking up a piece “All my life, it has been one bad dream after the other.”

       And he had tried slicing up his wrists, but all it did was hurt and it would too obvious if he did it enough times to leave scars. The blonde grasped it in his hand and ran his thumb up and down the tip. He could get away for good if he just had the guts. But he didn’t want to, not really. If Beka would forgive him, he’d gladly stay. His kiss tasted like redemption. A promise of leniency. If he tried harder, Beka would be good to him. Hell, only Yuri knew he wished he could be good, too. A dirty body, a foul tongue, desperately trying to be good, and hopelessly failing.

       Yuri flinched and dropped the piece of glass in his hand when Viktor barged in, yelling questions he knew the answer to. “What’s going on?”, “How did his happen?”, “What are you doing there, Yurotchka?! You could get hurt!”. When he felt his uncle’s hands on his shoulders, Yuri dragged himself backwards until he reached the wall. He watched him leave and come back. He watched him hastily clean up as though he was sticking his fingers down a throat to make someone vomit the pills out. As if he was getting rid of bullets in the house. Locking away the bleach in the overhead cabinet.

         Viktor was one poor bastard. Always cleaning up after Yuri. Leaving with a moving box inside a trash bag because he had a better grasp of how dangerous broken glass was. Yuri took the opportunity to get up and lock himself inside of the bathroom. Another mirror. Fuck.

         “Yurochka, what happened?” The uncle asked behind the door. Yuri sighed loud enough to be heard. “You don’t just go breaking mirrors, solnyshko. What’s wrong?”

       “Nothing.” He replied, holding onto the marble on the sink, leaning towards the mirror. He looked like trash.

       “If you want to me to go away, you should come up with something more believable.” Viktor said, and Yuri scoffed. “Did something happen with Otabek?”

       Yuri closed his eyes again, trying to block the image of Beka, hurt and confused, as he was treated like a criminal.

        “Did he… try something on you, Yurochka?”

        “No!” Yuri exclaimed, even turning around as if there wasn’t a door separating them. “Don’t even suggest that shit!”

         “Okay, okay.” The old man agreed. “Then can we, please, talk about this?”

         Yuri tried to pull himself together. “I need a shower.”

         “I hear you.” He complied. “I’ll make lunch.”

           What time was it? It was already morning when he fell asleep. Yuri undressed, threw his clothes in the laundry basket that he left under the sink. He felt like having an icy bath, but he didn’t want to go outside for the ice, so Yuri settled for a cold shower. His eyes stung and weighed like he hadn’t slept for days, and he knew that sensation quite well. As he got up on the bath, he wondered if he should call Beka. Say that he was more fucked than he’d let show. That he’d been manipulating him all that time, purposely being a better version of himself so that he’d not be disappointed. So that he’d stay. Otabek had never seen him go crazy. He’d never seen him break things and hurt himself, so… Maybe there really was a blank canvas. A chance… Or something. He turned the shower on.

           Not cold enough, but Yuri let it slide. It was still soothing to lift up his head and let the drops cool his eyelids. Give his lips a real reason for trembling. He cried again, but it was easier, because no one had to know, not even him. It was just the shower. It sounded like peaceful rain.

          _“You don’t even flinch.” Yuri whispered as he brushed Otabek’s eyelashes with his fingertip. They were dark and long. It reminded him of Mila ranting about how men didn’t appreciate their lashes enough._

_“Why should I?” He asked, still gazing patiently at Yuri, even though the blonde knew that it was annoying to keep touching him. Otabek laid there lazily on his side, with one arm around Yuri’s waist, unbothered._

_“I could stick a finger in your eye at anytime.” Yuri told him, because it was astonishing to him how someone could be so defenseless._

_“I know.” Beka replied. “But you wouldn’t.”_

_“Oh, wouldn’t I?”_

_“No.” He said, scooching closer. “I trust you with my eyes closed.”_

_And he did close them. It felt like he was giving himself away. Beka had such pretty, long eyelashes. It’d be a tragedy to see even one of them fall off. It was so distracting how good he was. Everywhere he went, there was a neon sign over his head, telling Yuri “Here, this is where 'good' is”, “Here, this is where 'good' is going”. Yuri had given in to the temptation of believing it, and he had already followed it, and invited it in. He let his hand wander on that side of Otabek’s face that wasn’t on the pillow. Such beautiful bone structure. Strikingly defined, manly jawline. They looked so different, him and Beka, yet they looked like each other’s personalities. Yuri liked him. A lot. More than he was comfortable with. It rose too many questions._

_Could he let that guy touch him? Could he let that guy fuck him? He wanted both of those things, but the reality was as shitty as it got. Yuri didn’t get what he wanted. Not really. He had to either not get attached and watch it leave or enjoy it while it lasted and watch it leave. It all turned out the same._

_He kissed Otabek’s blissful lips, and he was kissed back. It was too easy. Because he knew that Otabek wouldn’t go any further than that, even earlier in the night when he had asked him “What now?”, he knew that it wouldn’t end up in sex. Ever since the very first day, Otabek looked at Yuri like Yuri looked at paintings. Untouchable, easily undervalued works of art. One touch became a million, then it became trite, then it was nothing to look at, just something else that had been passed on a million times like a cheap dollar bill. He kissed Beka unafraid of becoming a cumhole in his hands, and hating himself afterwards. He’d been just that for a few strange man, and he'd spit on their faces on his way out. They had given Yuri just what he wanted – pain, a dry, hard fuck; shame, a long-lasting memory._

_Beka had never been one of them in Yuri’s mind. However, Yuri didn’t know if he wouldn’t become one. Sex had never been sex for him. It had always been torture. He could never love somebody who gave him pain. But he wanted to love Beka. He was the only one Yuri had ever thought he could love._

_He felt Beka’s hand taking his, that was on his face. It made them stop for a second. The older man kissed Yuri’s palm._

_“You’re the only one thinking you’re some kind of monster, Yura.”_

_Shit got pretty real when someone knew exactly what to say. How did he know? Would he just start saying more things like that? Should Yuri back away?_

_“I think the same thing about myself, too.” He continued. “But, you know, I’ve come up with this theory that, since we are each in our own universe, like, seeing the world in our own perspective, unaware of everything else that goes on in other people’s, we’re set to think that all that happens is on us and solely on us. Because all that we know for sure is what we do and there’s no way of reading other people’s minds and understanding their circumstances. Also, there’s no way of knowing all the little things that happen around us and around the ones around us that make the present what it is. It’s easy to make ourselves the villain because, in our story, there is only us. We are all we know. The same goes to making us the victim. I guess it just depends on our personality which one we pick to be. It’s a weird form of antagonism, really. But there is no way that we are the center of everything. No way that everything has been solely our fault. No way that I, a guy who’s looking at you from my universe, who has chosen to be the antagonist, would think that you’re the monster.”_

_It was almost four in the morning when Otabek said all that. No matter how much he tried to make himself go unnoticed, to become smaller, that man was something else. Smart people were the ones who didn’t need to get high to elevate their minds. Beka was a motherfucking thinker, and that fucked him up, but, goddamn, was it attractive. And he only threw a thought here and there in conversation—Yuri didn’t have the slightest clue of how deep it actually went. He knew that people who spoke a bunch as languages were also more intelligent, and Beka knew a shit-ton of them. Yuri would just thrive sitting and listening to him talk. He spent way too much time at school being made to sit through boring, useless lessons. He could use someone to help him do some soul-searching. His psychiatrist said that he wasn’t “receptive.” It was not true. He didn’t want to hear his plastic conclusions that he had gotten from a text book. He’d listen to that, all the things that Otabek thought about. They were interesting, and inspiring. Opened a door for Yuri to think for himself._

_“Mr. Writer, you’ve given a lot to think about.” The blonde said, brushing his fingers through Otabek’s black hair. “Later.”_

Yuri caught himself with one palm on the wall, just to keep himself steady, and fingers slightly touching his lips. He couldn’t believe he had fucked up so badly. Just standing there, thinking about how, even though Beka couldn’t touch him, he kissed like he was. He kissed like his hand was on Yuri’s cheek, as though his fingers ran through Yura’s hair. Yuri had been wishing for that since the day that they had met and, as soon as he had it, he turned it to shit. And he wanted more, but that wasn’t enough. He couldn’t just call and say that he was wrong, he had to tell Beka why. But, if he couldn’t follow through with it, then telling was useless. Yuri brushed his hair back with his hands. If he was so scared of someone else cutting it, he should just do it himself again. He’d done it for years anyway. He looked more like a boy with his hair short.

        _Ugh._ But that wasn’t him. Granted, it was more like _her_. How twisted was that? Dr. Krass had said that wasn’t the reason Yuri wanted to grow his hair out again. It was either because he wanted to express himself with it, curl it, braid it, put it up in a bun, anything – it was a reasonable explanation; Yuri was, indeed, an artistic person. Or he wanted back something that had been taken from him. It’d be an important achievement, to overcome fear and the easy solution to stay without something that’d hurt to lose, and figure out if it was really what he wanted. To just be able to choose to cut it all off if he so wished. Even cutting it all off himself could be a form of empowerment.

         He wasn’t going to mess with it. So what else? What else could he try to fix? All that he could think of had something to do with Beka. He needed to trust someone, and that was Beka. He couldn’t do it without him. So all that Yuri could do was tell the truth _? So much for doing good._ He’d, at least, finish Beka’s painting first.

         Frustrated and cold, Yuri got out of the shower.

 

* * *

 

          He could smell the mac and cheese from his bedroom. Yuri would almost admit that he wished the piggy was there to make lunch that day because he could use some comfort food. With his hair still wet, Yuri sat where his plate already was and he poured himself some Sprite, while Viktor brought a bunch of different sauces to the table. The old man sat in front of Yuri. He would almost admit that he was glad that his uncle was there – he needed to talk to someone. And Viktor was the only one – _well, now the piggy too –_ who knew everything already.

           “Is it good?” Viktor asked when Yuri took the first bite.

           “Tastes like you microwaved it from a box.”

           “An accurate palate.” He noted.

         Viktor was a good cook, when he wanted to, but he didn’t like all the steps that it took to prepare a proper meal. Yuri didn’t like them either, and that was why he was a shitty cook. At least, he had an accurate palate. He could feel his uncle studying him, figuring out what to say or when he should speak up, ask what had happened again. It was typical, they had been in that situation a number of times. It wasn’t the most glamorous place to be, but Yuri was like the teenage son that was going through a phase. That phase didn’t seem to ever go away, though.

            “Beka was too close to me when I woke up and it freaked me out.” It was weird to use terms such a “touching” when talking to his uncle.

            “So you broke a mirror?”

             “I got scared like a little bitch, kicked him out, noticed that I was perfectly fine because of-fucking-course Beka wouldn’t hurt a fly, _then_ I broke a mirror.”

             “I don’t know, I think it’s progress that you had him sleep over, if you ask me.”

            “Sure, just so that he could find out that I’m an undateable walking trauma.”

             “You’re talking about dating him? That’s progress!”

              “Get that smug off your face, old man, it’s fucking creepy.”

             Yuri’s phone started ringing as Viktor let out a joyful laugh. It was a pain how positive he was, sometimes. He’d already forgotten about the whole mirror-breaking thing. Anyhow, it was grandpa. The blonde waited until he’d finished swallowing his food, took a sip of his drink and answered.

             “Да.” Yuri took another bite.

           “Allo, moy khoroshiy.” The elder yawned. It should’ve been close to eleven at night in St. Petersburgh. “Are you doing alright?”

 “Да.” The teen replied shortly as he chewed. “Have you taken all your medicine? Can’t go to bed before you do.”

          “Yes, son. I’m going to sleep right after this. I was waiting for your mother to go to bed so that I could ask you this question.”

          “Mm?” He meant it as “go ahead”

          “I see that you made a deposit for me yesterday? What is it for?”

          “You know what’s for, grandpa.”

          “Your mom is off those pills, son, you don’t need to concern yourself with that.”

          Yuri couldn’t help but huff. No way that woman would just stop taking money from his grandpa to support her hypochondria.

           “It’ll be okay this time, Yurochka. You should have come anyway, you’d see she’s doing just fine.”

           “I’ll fly to see _you_ , grandpa. As long as she’s there, I’m staying. Just keep the cash and give it to her, alright? Or use it next time you have to lock her up.”

           _The crazy bitch._

           “It doesn’t matter, son, I’m not keeping your uncle’s money—“

           “Not Viktor’s.” He said, and he felt just as proud as he thought he would. “It’s my money, grandpa. I can take it from here. If you don’t want it, just ask her if she does. I’m sure she’ll keep it.”

          “Yurochka, they wouldn’t have let her out if she was still like that.”

          “Sure, if that makes you sleep any better.” It was too late at night for him to be on the phone. “Which you should be doing, anyway. We can talk about this some other time.”

         Yuri’s grandpa complied and they said their goodbyes. All it took was hanging up for the teen to start cursing. He hated that she was back and that he had had to cancel spending Spring Break in St. Petersburgh. The woman kept getting in and out of rehab and every time his grandpa thought that she had gotten better. Then she was back at it again, paranoid and out of control, blaming it on the pills, then taking more. Grandpa was too old for that shit. She should just find a man who’d tell her she’s pretty and disappear. It was all she cared about anyway. The reason why she had brought the storm into twelve-year-old Yuri’s bedroom, as if he hadn’t had enough.

          “He thinks she’s motherfucking Mary Magdalene, I swear to God—“

          “Wow, a bible reference.”

           Yuri made a face. “We had an assignment.”

        “I know. If you had to paint a biblical character, of course it’d be the prostitute. I love it, still my favorite.” Viktor realized he had trailed off. “But she’s his daughter, he’ll never run out of chances for her.”

         “If I’d had a dad like him, maybe I would’ve had a chance.”

         “Oh, sunshine, you have plenty!” Viktor showed that large smile of his. So hopeful. “You’re at the prime of your career, of romance, you have chances to spare!”

         Viktor was really a poor bastard. Yuri remembered. They had only just moved to that apartment, nearing his seventeenth birthday, and, at that time, the teen still locked his door multiple times before he went to sleep. Until, once, he gave into exhaustion and slept on the floor of his studio. In the morning, seemingly more tired and dying of thirst, he tried to unlock the door, but the key wouldn’t move. When he tried to just open it, it did. Then the panic came in. There was only him and Viktor in that house and he still thought that he wouldn’t recognize himself in the mirror. And he felt such relief after checking that he was still the same, and such overwhelming guilt to even think that his uncle, who had protected him in every way that he could, would stomp as low as his psycho mother. He remembered kneeling next to Viktor’s bed, where he slept, and waking him up, crying, asking for forgiveness. The man was so distraught he didn’t even think to stop his alarm and it just kept going off the whole time. While Yuri cried, and said that he was sorry, and thanked his guardian for not hurting him.

          The older man sobbed so loud and for so long, Yuri almost regretted going there – he’d done it in the heat of the moment. Viktor still cried when Yuri’s distrust in other people came in conversation. Whenever they fought and he realized that the teen regretted whatever bullshit he had spilled in anger, Viktor said that he remembered, and that he knew; that it was okay, and that he was forgiven. The man never needed to specify anything.

         “What are you doing today?” Viktor asked.

         “Painting.” Yuri replied, taking his last gulp of soda.

         “Don’t you want to go out? Remember you have an appointment with Dr. Krass tomorrow.”

        It was probably the first time that Yuri didn’t dread meeting his psychiatrist. He had something to ask him. Just in a matter of hours, Yuri had had an episode again, scared away a person that he liked, given Viktor a new headache, resented Grandpa for protecting Mom, and resented her for causing all of it. On a second thought, it'd been Dad who started everything. It'd been Yakov, or Russia or politics or the modern God or the Northern ones. Being born. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to experience it (question-mark). Because Dad wouldn’t have had anyone to assault, and mom wouldn’t have had anyone to cut, and Viktor wouldn’t have anyone to look after, and Beka wouldn’t have had anyone to mistreat him.

        Thinking about what Otabek himself had said, Yuri realized that it wasn’t entirely true. There would always be someone else.

         “How does all this fit into someone else’s life?” The blonde asked suddenly, not caring about how random he’d sound. “You know, the psychiatrists and the crazy mother and the criminal dad, who little does Russia know is also a fucking child molester? Isn’t this shit too much to just throw on Beka?”      

         Viktor took a second and kept on being his cheesy self. “When we’re loved by someone, what we call ‘throwing’, they call ‘sharing’.”

 

* * *

 

 

           It was a mess of red on Yuri’s hands as he pressed his fingers onto the loose pieces of silicone rubber to give them a more realistic texture of skin. He found himself humming [Conor Oberst’s Breezy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCEhsd32Ms0) as he glued the pieces onto the barbed wire on the canvas. An ironically mellow song for creating such a gruesome piece. But Beka had sung it as the sky changed colors. It’d gotten stuck in Yuri’s head.

           _“Is there anything that I can do return the favor?” The older man asked, after he’d told the blonde that it’d usually be difficult for him to fall asleep in someone’s room, but, since he’d woken up early,  he thought it wouldn’t take long after he closed his eyes. And that was because Yuri had written stories on his cheek._

_The teen couldn’t think of anything other than lending him his chest, but Beka was already doing that. He wanted to hear him sing, though._

_“What do you do best?”_

_“Well, when Yuuri is anxious, he likes it when I recite him poetry.”_

_“No, not something you'd do for the piggy.”_

_Otabek let out a little laugh. Yuri had sounded as petty as he’d intended._

_“I mean, I can sing for you, if you want. I don’t know a lot of lullabies, but I’m fond of many songs that could be called a snooze, so there’s that.”_

_“I’m no crowd.”_

_“I guess not.” Beka agreed, and kissed Yuri’s hair. “I wonder why I don’t mind.”_

_“’Cause you like me.” Yuri teased. He couldn’t stop drowning in that man’s smell and how masculine it was. It was just perfect how he could keep the manliness without the douchiness._

_“You could say that.”_

_“Shut up, you said it yourself. And then you went on…” Yuri kept teasing, lifting his head to plant a kiss on the Kazakh’s neck “… about how happy you were—_

_“I didn’t go_ on _about it.”_

_He could hear the smile in Beka’s voice, so he made sure to taste that sinful jawline. “Aren’t you?”_

_“Alright, let’s get you to sleep.” He said as he giggled, embarrassed. And he hugged Yuri tightly to tame him, then to just hold him as he sang._

_Move your slender fingers_

_Help me play this song_

_Spend another night_

_Inside this rented mansion_

_I love you now, I know_

_That doesn’t matter_

_I love you now, I know_

_That doesn’t matter_

_Kissing full of beer, tequila, weed and candy_

_Walking down the boardwalk_

_Act like we were married_

_You always made it easy_

_Then I’d want you more_

_You always kept it easy_

_So I’d want you more_

 

* * *

 

    Yuri sent a Mila a text, asked her what she was going to do the next day. He already knew: she was going to Pilates. She did it three times a week, in the morning. His cousin had been trying to convince him to go, since her friend would still be traveling for Spring Break. He’d told her ‘no’, she said it was relaxing, that he should go. He told her he would be going back to fit-dance after the break.

 

        **> The Hag:** pilatesss, 8:30am

        **> The Hag:** sound good???  <3

        **< You:** sounds  boring

        **< You:** but pick me up

        **> The Hag:** really?????? omg thank youuu

        **> The Hag:** you’ll love it, I know it

      Could that be called a step? People said that it helped with anger issues, or just frustration in general. So the painting was finished – it had been almost finished for a while, and he would try to start going to Pilates – just as a confirmation that he was a blonde, white, L.A girl. Then he’d see Dr. Krass, and he would go to Beka’s and try to tell him everything. It meant nothing to just apologize if he didn’t tell him why.

        To think that he hadn’t slept alone the night before.

        To think that there was a real, human voice singing him to sleep and not his phone the night before.

_You left us with a sorrow too unreal to help_

_Heard the birds sound broadcasts speakers at the Phoenix hotel_

_All your friends are standing, crying, on the sidewalk_

_All your boyfriends, they were standing crying on the sidewalk_

 

_Breezy, I feel dizzy_

_Can you help me up?_

_It's crowded at the backdoor_

_How we getting to the bus?_

_I'd like to help you find it if there's something better_

_Yeah, I'll try and help you find it if there's something better_

 

_Move your slender fingers_

_Help me play this song_

_Spend another night inside this practice mansion_

_I love you now, I know_

_That's all that matters_

_I love you still, I know_

_That's all that matters_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

       Yuri set his alarm for eight, because he knew he wouldn’t wake up any earlier anyway. He took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, put on some workout clothes and left without eating breakfast. He could hear Viktor’s music playing in his room – he was probably getting ready to leave as well, but they didn’t cross each other. He hopped in Mila’s red convertible. She got herself a Starbucks drink on the way, but Yuri refused to get anymore basic, so he bought a Jack In The Box two-dollar breakfast pocket, which he could’ve had at home if Mila hadn’t lied to him about the time because she "knew" he wouldn’t wake up.

        They were there at nine, which left plenty of time for Yuri to register for the class and for them to talk in the waiting room about the Kazakh guy from the party, who Yuri had been so “cozy” with.

         “He goes to AIC.” He said, trying to draw a wing just looking at Mila’s cellphone’s front camera. “He actually lives with that DJ guy, you know, Leo something.”

         “I wouldn’t let him too close to your man, kitten. I heard he was making out with a guy at a party in Vegas on Saturday”

          “Figures. No one’s straight in that house. But the piggy lives there too, and some Thai guy.”

           “Oh, that’s right, Viktor had already told me that he was Yuuri’s roommate. I got so distracted by all that PDA that I forgot.”

           “Are you on meth? What PDA?”

           “Come on, I can tell from a mile away that you wanna get your claws into him.”

          _Well…_ Done. Both wings looked perfect.

“We made out on Sunday.”

          “I figured as much after you disappeared. How was it?”

          How was it? Like one of Yuri’s pieces. It self-destructed before it became any less than heavenly.

          “Good enough to make me wanna keep him.”

           That was the first thing that startled her. Fair enough. When she complained about guys, Yuri was the first one to throw wood into the fire. And she didn’t know that the teen had been eyeing Otabek for a while; maybe she wouldn’t understand how easy it was to turn curiosity into attraction or go from one to the other when studying a subject. If he had spent one more day staring at Mary Magdalene, he could’ve fucked her. And Yuri wouldn’t be caught dead being the one to stick it on a normal day, but that was the collateral of staring at something and making it come to life, knowing all of its layers because he was the one to place each one. When the art and the real person got mixed up, peeling layers was the same as taking their clothes off. When it was done with hate, though, it was same as exposing their organs.

           Stuck in that cycle of hate that Viktor thought would be the downfall of his career, Yuri did what he had done when he had first started drawing realism: Go out and just watch people. How the light hit their features, what made a face perfectly asymmetrical, imperfect enough to look real. At the second time, however, he was just searching for someone who was interesting to look at. It boring to draw obvious happiness—too easy. Even an artist who took birthday commissions did it, all the time, everywhere.

           The park was an easy spot. It was close from the university and from home. All he had to do was buy a snow cone and watch. He’d seen him come and sit at the bench, all sweaty and, honestly, hot as fuck. The first thing that Yuri noticed were his arms and how defined his muscles were, they were very drawable indeed and a bunch of other stuff. He hadn't noticed that the man always had earbuds on until they bumped into each other at school, then Yuri started paying attention to the chords. And when he realized that the stranger covered himself up while he was at uni. It was important to look at the details that personalized the subject. For example, the tattoo on his arm looked like a snake wrapped around it, and Yuri would need to come closer to count his ear piercings. There was no way he was American, not with those features. At least, born somewhere else. Somewhere in the South of Asia, maybe. Kazakhstan was wishful thinking. And also scary as fuck when he thought about it, since his whole family was hated there as well.

            Unfortunately, Yuri was always late for school and he couldn’t go too often. But he started trying to find him through the window when he stayed home for the day or just when he missed lectures. The stranger could stay under the tree for hours on end, just listening to music. Who still did that? He had to hate AIC if he couldn’t just wait at the library or something.

_Curiosity._

           Yuri wasn’t going to sit there staring at the guy with his sketchpad, but he had finally found someone to draw, to steal emotions from. Someone that all he had to do was try to bring his expression to paper and it would, no matter what, be a mystery. The stranger was the only one who knew what he was listening to, and he had earphones on. The painter just needed to get close enough to him, just once, and take a good look. Then he could draw him anywhere. When he met the man next, Yuri sat on the same bench with him. He didn’t even notice. The blonde just needed a good look at the bridge of his nose and shape of his lips, the depth of his eyes, what exactly was his haircut, and the six times that he had had his ears pierced, even though some of the earrings were missing that day. Yuri couldn’t stay there too long otherwise he would be caught, but he had never looked at a subject with such perfect proportions. His shoulders, his jawline, his neck – that was what made artists lose it. He didn’t have to draw them to make them real, they were already there. That made his craft useless, and owned it at the same time. _Try to make that guy look better and fail._

           It was his expression, however, even though it was hot and he was sweaty, and at school he kept his head down… He looked inside of his own world. It was up to other’s imagination to try and recreate it. They could paint it themselves, though. Yuri would rather give them the mystery. It sucked that him and the man didn’t know each other. It sucked that it was useless for Yuri to introduce himself then and there—he was too problematic. It sucked to leave him there unadmired. _Attraction._ It turned into pages and pages of that stranger’s Mona Lisa-esque expression in Yuri’s sketchpad. What was he listening to? What exactly had his undivided attention?

          Who’d think he’d show up at Yuri’s birthday party? Handsome enough to make Yuri’s jaw drop, in all-black and teary eyes—better than any of his drawings, just as self-destructive. A real fucking Adonis.

          Mila was snapping her fingers in front of Yuri when he came to. It was too easy for him to project an image in his head, they came very vividly—it made painting less of a challenge, as it did getting distracted at Pilates.

            “Damn, he got you good _. Real_ good.” She said, half-proud and half-impressed.

           Yuri rolled his eyes. _That’s true._

* * *

 

         Every time that he had walked into that office, Yuri had been chewing gum. It’d started from a childish agreement with Viktor, he’d always have it in the car and it helped with Yuri’s anxiety, to chew until his jaw ached. It was kind of insolent, also; that troubled teen, chewing loud, with his hands in his pockets. It was textbook I-Don’t-Care attitude. If he didn’t want to do something or if something made him anxious, there was some placebo in bubblegum. He was still a kid. _That_ was unfortunate.

          Viktor watched as Yuri got in, then he did the same as always - reply to his e-mails, take the time to read a book -, at least, in California, there was a coffee house right next to the building where Dr. Krass received his patients. All those years before, Viktor stayed in the waiting room as Yuri took his mind some place else not to hear that woman talking. Later, they came to the conclusion that he couldn’t listen to authority, specially from a woman. Same old, same old. Mommy issues.

          Dr. Krass looked like he could host a rehab reality show. Looking good for his age, owning the grays, wearing rectangular glasses. Always in a sweater. Yuri had used the way the man held his pen as reference for his drawings many times. It had some class to it. And he kept his nails nicely done, like the metrosexual L.A boomer that he was. He sounded like a smoker, though. Everyone had their issues.

          The same introductions. “How are you feeling today, Yuri?”, “What did you do this week?”, “How’s university?”, “Heard you had an exhibit, wanna talk about it?”. It was a given that he had to go through that overpriced bullshit, even though no one was going to push meds down his throat, and he'd usually just listen, but he had a goal that day.

          “Let’s just cut the crap, alright?” Kevin's expression never changed. Probably the botox. “There’s this guy I’m into. For us to have anything, I need to be normal. How do I do that?”

         “Don’t you think you’re normal?”

         “No, I fucking don’t, Kevin, the guy barely touched me and I acted like he had stabbed me in my sleep!”

         “The fact that you’re dealing with trauma doesn’t make you any less normal. I’m sure even this man you speak of is dealing with something, too.”

          “Fine, then, what do I have to do get over it?!”

          “We’ve been through this. The first thing is to accept what happened.”

          “I know what happened, I just don’t remember a goddamned thing.”

          “Yuri, your dreams—“

           “Don’t even start.”

           “They could be memories that you blocked—“

           **“They’re not real!”**

           Yuri realized that he was standing. And he sat down again. But all those times that he had dreamed about what his father had done to him, and how he felt the pain to his goddamned bones—it'd never been real. He'd dreamt about many other things as well. It was the trauma. It was the other option. He let men be rough with him because he was trying to recreate it, and he was only trying to recreate it because he had blacked out and couldn’t remember anything. That was the truth. He’d blacked out. It was the same with his mother. If someone else was going to cut all of his hair off, then he’d do it himself. If someone else was going to violate him anyway, then he’d just spread his legs when he wanted it to hurt. Because that was what he'd been taught was punishment. That was all. It was ugly and fucked, but it was all.

            “I just want to let him touch me.” The blonde said. Those were probably the most honest words that had come out of his mouth inside that room.

            “Then you’ve got to trust him, and that will take time, but I am sure it can be done.” Dr. Krass uncrossed his legs. “Is he a good man?”

            “The best. You have no idea.”

            “Then why don’t you trust him now?”

          Yuri thought about it. “Maybe I… Don’t know him well enough?”

            “Then get to know him.”

           The blonde scoffed. “Is it really that simple?”

            “If there is a will, there is a chance. You won’t know until you try.”

           The son of a bitch managed to fit not one, but two overused lines in one go. How the fuck did it make sense?

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Yuri went back to school on Tuesday. His joints hurt. That class had been brutal. Even though he had always been the most flexible in dance class, Pilates was on a whole new level.. It was still unusually quiet because some people were still hungover from the break. He considered just going back, but he didn’t want to run into Beka. Not at that moment. He had a plan. As he got everything together for his next exhibit, all of his old folders, his old drawings, he decided he'd tell Beka the story. And he’d make it a show, just like he did with all of his pieces. It’d be a special reveal, of his riskiest encounters with art, for his biggest fanboy. He’d even asked Mila to drop him off later at his house. He hoped Beka was okay. Yuri didn’t even know if he had come to school. He didn’t see him from the window.

           Nick The Prick was there, and he tried to pass some bullshit that he had forgotten his “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction”’, a book they were supposed to have read during break, and his sorry-ass tried to pair with Yuri.

          “You come near me and I’ll cut you.”

          It was true. Yuri carried a switchblade. It was just as deadly as it was fabulously holo. Nick was an ass, but he wasn’t stupid. He paired with someone else.

        

          At night, though, after the convertible stopped at the house, and Yuri saw the Harley parked in front, he knew that he was there, and his heart caved in. Would he take Yuri to the Hollywood sign if he knew he’d been damaged in every possible way? He wasn’t that kid from the screen anymore.

        It didn't matter, he wasn’t going to pussy out, no way. If Beka didn’t want him anymore, he was just going to be someone else. It was a fair try, but the blonde couldn’t convince himself of it. He was already in too deep.

       “Are you scared, kitten?”

         Yuri clicked his tongue. “I’m not scared.” He just couldn’t stop looking at the door and waiting for that man to come out and get on his bike, with his jacket that smelled like Greek fucking gods. Free. “It's just that I might’ve…” The blonde swallowed. “Fallen.”

         And he unlocked the door. He waved Mila goodbye. He rang the doorbell. It could’ve been anyone that opened it really, but no— it was Beka alright. Yuri was dying to kiss him. 

        “Listen, I know I fucked up big time, but will you come back with me?”

 

* * *

 


	16. Bubble.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to leave you on a cliff-hanger before, I'm sorry :( You probably don't know, but I draw/design for a living, and my hand gave out on me this week, so I couldn't edit. :( Here's what happens next!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mention of rape/abuse

* * *

         

 

         Even though he was trying to play it cool, Otabek felt profoundly uneasy. Of course he wasn’t going to tell anyone, which meant that he had been trying to dissect everything that had happened for the past two days all by his lonesome. He’d seen signs of it: how Yuri was fine with someone being close, but not too close. He kept sticky notes on his brain. Maybe he had gotten carried away. It wouldn’t have been hard. He was happy, he was like a kid who had just moved to the big house with the pool and the yard, to whom Dad had built a dream tree house, that could be his own little corner of the world. Beka should’ve paid more attention. At some point, he'd just shut his brain down. He looked at Yuri with his heart, he breathed with his heart, moved with his heart— For someone who preached respect for boundaries above all things, Otabek had really neglected them.  
              He was going to start making up suppositions about where Yuri’s reaction could have come from. Granted, Otabek had already learned that there were bad things involved. But he had already crossed a line with Yuri once, he wasn’t doing it again. If the blonde himself wasn’t going to tell him, then Beka wasn’t going to try to know. The only obstacle was that he was worried. Yura looked like he'd had a nightmare, the worst of them all. He was so scared, he was shaking. The Kazakh didn’t know if he had done nothing because Yuri had told him to or just because his brain had malfunctioned. Who just left people like that? And worse… Who left someone that they loved like that? With that in mind, Otabek went on an spiritual search about respect and negligence. When he, himself, said something – asked someone to leave – he meant it. No matter what, he meant it. He knew it was different for some other people, but was it different for Yuri? Hell, it sounded degrading to even consider deluding his words.  
              It wasn’t hard to continue his life as normal. Otabek wasn’t sad over it. No, it seemed like a part of a bigger problem and he needed to keep his head leveled to be useful. Beka didn’t give a fuck about pride. He didn’t care that Yuri had told him to leave in the morning. It wasn’t about him. He could tell, from the moment that he saw those green eyes, that it wasn’t himwho they were seeing. It was like he’d woken from a bad dream and didn’t realize that he had. Even if Yuri had just regretted the whole thing the next day, it would still be his own right. However, most unusually, Beka didn’t think that that was the case. Instead of shutting himself down, he was going to wait. He wasn’t going to do anything that’d just make Yuri feel guilty later. It wasn’t his fault. If he had felt scared, no matter what the reason was, it wasn’t his fault.  
                Still, he felt profoundly uneasy. Dali had left on Monday. Otabek took her to the airport; she said she’d be coming back in the Summer, just didn’t know exactly when. Raina seemed sad to leave, which meant she'd had a good time overall and that was amazing. They deserved it so much. After his sister left in the early afternoon, Leo and Phichit arrived back home. They seemed to have enjoyed Spring Break as well, attending every party that they came across while in Vegas. More importantly, Leo was beaming for the first time in a while. The first thing that he did was sit Otabek down.  
           “You were right to go after Yuri.” He said. That guy seemed to have aged five years in five days. “If GuangHong hadn’t come after me, even though I was the one who screwed things up, we would have never moved forward. So I’m sorry… Again.”  
            _I didn’t this time._  
   
         “He went after you?”  
         Oh, that was a genuine smile right there. Not for show, not be the fun guy in the group, not to hide his true feelings. Leo nodded and his “Mm-hm” sounded like he was with-holding the excitement with all of his strength. _That’s good, Leo. Really good._ Otabek could acknowledge it, sure; on any other day, he might’ve even been happy for his friend. However, all he could think about was if he should go after Yuri. If things would move forward. And what it meant-- They might’ve even reached a dead-end. Beka pat the American man’s shoulder and managed to form a smirk. He hoped that was enough.  
         “How did it go?”  
         Leo ran his hands through his own hair. Otabek had never seen him so happy.  
         “He said, if both of us ended up in the same area for the break, then he had to meet me. Like it was fate or something.”  
        _Fate, huh?_ Still such an interesting concept.  
          “And you?”  
         Leo made a face and closed one of his eyes like he was about to punched. “I kissed him.” Otabek lifted an eyebrow. He needed to know how they were doing on that consent issue. “Okay, I admit that I did it suddenly—“ He seemed to ponder for a second. “I guess he did tell me we couldn’t do that…”  
           “What did he say?”  
           The same face. “’We can’t do this’?”  
           “Then why the hell did you?!”  
           “I needed him to know!” The man raised his voice and quieted down right after. “That I’m serious this time. I didn’t care that we were in public, and I didn’t care that there were people from school there, and I didn’t care that somehow the gossip would reach my parents. Beks, I didn’t care, like… At all.”  
            Leo seemed bewildered by his own affirmation. _Ah. So he’s blossomed._ The American man leaned in like he was going to share with Otabek the most exciting of all tales. “You get it, right? This feeling that you need to do something right then and there, otherwise you might not get another chance. Like when you stormed out of the theater after Yuri.” Such desperate need to be understood. Otabek remembered it, when realizing his queerness, what it meant to have Dali and to see just how brave she was. More importantly, to not feel so estranged from the rest of the world, because the way that he loved didn’t exist in the book he had been raised by. “Some part of me was, like, ‘must be nice’, you know? To know what you want, and who you want, and not hold back. You, and Yuuri, and Peach, you guys have all been teaching me something ever since I came to live here. Priorities, my friend. I had mine all mixed up. I mean, who cares if my family can’t accept it or if it’s a sin or--”  
     _Oh, don’t have doubts now._  
     Otabek took his hand to the man’s shoulder and he was able to form an encouraging smile because he was, honestly, so very proud. But also because he knew that it was scary to feel rejected by everything that he knew. “Just keep doing your best. I’m sure it’ll work out for you. You’re a good guy, Leo, bad people don’t try to do better. If hell is really a thing, then good people don’t end up there, yeah?”  
       “Yeah…” He tried to agree, still doubtful. “But if it says there that we shouldn’t lie with other men…”  
       “Says you can’t shave, too.”  
       Otabek appreciated that his friend was trying to move past what he’d been taught. He couldn’t tell him that he still felt dirty sometimes, or like a sinner. Beka knew he shouldn’t, so he hoped Leo, with his bright and positive personality, would not be tormented by it for as long as he had. In reality, Beka didn’t know the Chinese guy all that well, but he still got the impression that he was sweet and that it was a good thing that they had been in the same place, at the same time. Fate was a strange concept. Otabek guessed that Guanghong wanted it to happen with his whole heart, so he went out and exposed himself fully. Again. It was brave of him – a little too brave to just dismiss it as fate.  
       “What about the boyfriend?” Beka asked, trying to shift the tone of the conversation.  
       Leo sunk in his chair.  
         “Oh.” Otabek voiced. His friend didn’t need to say anything.  
         The American man placed both of his hands on his face. “He said he couldn’t bring himself to break up, because they had gone on the trip together and everything was fine before…” Leo grunted. “The bastard even knows about me, why can’t he just let go—“  
         “You remember how you regretted when you did that.”  
         “I know, I know…”  
         “Just wait for him. He’ll come around. I mean, it’s fate, isn’t it?”  
         If that was the truth he believed him, and that would bring him more comfort, then fate it was. Fate it had always been.  
 

 

* * *

  
     
         Beka didn’t leave the Music building until his lectures were over. The more time passed, the more concerned he got about Yuri, so he did think about going out and looking for him – so much it could’ve cut a hole through his desk. However, he kept countering that urge: if it were him, Otabek wouldn’t want anyone trying to find him, specially not at school, where he'd have to be everyday; it’d make him feel unsafe to just walk around campus, in fear of being approached. If it were a place where he could decide to not go anymore – even though that still sounded bad – then, maybe, he would give in and try to check for himself if Yuri was okay. The Kazakh didn’t need a whole lot. Had Yuri slept well enough? Had he eaten? Was anyone bothering him in class? He could settle for the simple questions. There was so much more to know, Beka was well aware of that, but the easiest questions somehow seemed more pressing then. It was the minimum that he would need to be able to think straight – or not at all – and be able to give more input on the beat that Leo was making. _At least, let me know if you’ve slept well. Have you eaten, at least? Are they, at least, leaving you be in class?_ Otabek was also well aware that one’s bare minimum could be too demanding of another.  
         Yuuri called to invite him for lunch. Beka said he wasn’t feeling like seeing people – Katsuki understood that he meant all the other students, not him or their friends -, but Leo would go. _That was uncalled for_ , Otabek thought to himself as soon as he said it; he understood it sounded like he wanted the man to leave him alone. Although what he had meant to do was not spoil it for anyone – it was their first day back at university after the break -, he could never find the right words and messed up even the smallest things. Good intentions didn’t make up for that. Otabek wondered if he really had good intentions or if he just made himself believe that he did. After thinking about that all through lunch – and ending up not having any -, Beka still couldn’t figure it out. He’d been feeling stupid as of late; couldn’t come up with a solution for anything, couldn’t find the right words, couldn’t figure things out on his own so that no one had to struggle to open up to him… So much for being useful.  
         Leo came back with way too many energy bars and they shared them for the rest of the day. Beka wrote “thank you” on his friend’s notebook and he responded by shaking his head. Leo hadn’t been pressuring about Yuri, which was new. He ought to have done some serious soul-searching in Vegas. _Who would’ve thought?_  
           “Seems like Peach caught a cold.” The American man told Otabek as they were leaving.  
           Phichit had sent a text to their group chat saying that he’d be home early and that Carter was with him, they were making soup for everybody. Otabek had yet to meet them, so it was a good opportunity – however, since he’d been feeling like a dumbass, it wouldn’t surprise him if he slipped the wrong pronoun, and that'd just make him not only a dumbass, but an asshole. _Awesome._ There was always a reason to lock himself in a room and rot there. Yuuri met them at the gate and they took the bus home together. Otabek only took off his hoodie when it was already moving, even though it was hot as always. It stopped him from looking around. He found himself fearful of meeting Yuri so close to his home or to the park. There was always the possibility that Yuri had just figured out that Otabek was useless and a dumbass and about to become an asshole.  
         He could feel Yuuri’s eyes on him on the bus. Him and Katsuki hadn’t had the same conflicts that he’d had with Leo, so Yuuri would ask soon. To prevent that, Otabek tried to show on his expression that he didn’t want to talk. He wasn’t going to tell Yuuri what had happened and he wasn’t going to start a whole secrecy thing that’d just make the Japanese worry to no end. It was better if he thought that Otabek was just moody. It happened. Leo, however, ended up unconsciously helping out because he started telling Yuri the events of the Spring Break Saturday and everything that came after. Yuuri, as usual, was being a good friend and giving him advice, always putting himself down in order to make others feel better about themselves – saying that he had left Viktor waiting longer than Leo had left Guanghong, that he hadn’t come out to his parents while they were alive, so Leo was brave to have been that bold and kissed a boy in public when he was somewhat of a celebrity.  
             “I’m sure that your parents will love you no matter what. Even if it doesn’t look like it in the beginning, give them time.”  
         Honestly, Otabek was sick of the talk of giving parents time to accept their children as they were. He wished he had stopped thinking like that when he noticed the slightest bit of hesitation. He wished Dali would’ve done the same. It would’ve saved them a whole lot of heartbreak. Perhaps he could talk to his sister about what had happened that morning. But it was different now that she had met Yuri. She left with such a good impression of him – such an accurate one. It didn’t change the fact that Otabek was her brother and that she’d probably still feel protective, after she had given their parents the time to process that Yuuri spoke about—damn, would Otabek ever stop being so cynical about everything?--, and maybe she’d think badly of Yuri if she knew. In conclusion, then, Otabek wasn’t going to talk to anyone. He was good at that, _at least._

  
        **> Unknown:** why do you keep changing ur number :’(

        _Oh. Did he break up with you?_

        **< You:** Just keeping it lowkey, Jamie.  
        **> Unknown:** at least give me a heads-up? For old times sake? ;-;  
        **< You:** For you to piss your boyfriend off?  
        **> Unknown:** No boyfriend ^^

        _Heh. Of course._

  
       Otabek shouldn’t have replied, but he was so desperate to look like he was occupied during that bus ride… It didn’t last long when Jamie just reappeared out of nowhere. It was usually when he was feeling insecure or when he had a fight with his boyfriend. Beka figured it was just those lingering feelings from high school, of having someone who’d just go along with him. Apparently, the older men that Jamie seemed to go for weren’t exactly the submissive type. Otabek had nothing to reply to that. He’d already told Jamie that, sure, maybe he would sleep with a stranger who was on bad terms with the person that they actually wanted, but not Jamie. Precisely because of the old times. There was no scenario where hooking up would be a good idea. It’d never be just fucking, just reliving memories that’d do no good for anybody. They had no feelings for each other, but they had been together during their most vulnerable times and to go back to that place seemed counterproductive when they’d worked hard to move on.  
       That time, even if the circumstances were different, nothing would happen. Otabek wanted no one other than Yuri. Not even a stranger. He couldn’t picture himself holding anyone else, just the thought of it seemed fake and primitive. Why would he go out fucking people when it’d just make him feel like crap the whole time? After he kissed Yuri, it strangely felt like cheating. If they were still the same people they were in high school, maybe Otabek could tell Jamie about it, with the naivety of a sixteen-year-old: _Hey, Jamie, I fell in love with someone._ And it wouldn’t mean that they had never been in love with each other in the first place.  
         No one. Otabek was going to talk to no one.

  
 

* * *

 

   
     He felt inadequate in the dining table. Beka wanted to be alone, but it was Carter’s first time in the house, and he didn’t want them not to feel welcome. If he wasn’t there, wouldn’t they think that he was bothered? They didn’t know Otabek’s ways, so it would be easy to misinterpret if he just said he had work to do and locked himself in his bedroom. Layla was supposed to come as well, which was unusual for Phichit to do, but both of them cared enough for him to make an exception. Otabek still felt worried, though, he didn’t want to do or say anything offensive on accident, so it kept him on edge when he was inserted in conversation. When the bell rang, Otabek was glad to get up and open the door. He knew Layla. Layla knew that he had his days. He could offer his chair to her, then he’d be able to leave more smoothly.  
       However, it wasn’t Pichit’s girlfriend at the door. It was Yuri, as gorgeous as he’d always been, in white tank top, his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. The relief came so violently it made Otabek’s chest sink in. _You came. I waited for you, and you came._ Beka didn’t have to stand there speechless for too long. Yuri was straight-forward. As always.  
         “I know I fucked up big time, but will you come back with me?”  
         His voice. That was his regular voice, even though a type of nervousness could be heard in it; he wasn’t loud, he wasn’t scared, he wasn’t angry. However, Otabek still couldn’t find the right words. He’d been feeling so damn unsure of himself in the past couple of days. He wanted to ask “Why did you come all the way here?” or to say “I could’ve gone to you, Yura”, “Did you sleep well? Have you eaten? Did anyone bother you at school today?” The loudest noise that Otabek heard in the seconds that him and Yuri stared at each other expectantly was the people inside of the house going silent. Then he felt like protecting Yuri again. No one needed to know what had happened. No one should have the time to ask. And, not able to shift his gaze from the wide green eyes that waited for him to speak – as always -, Otabek hoped he’d be able to keep his voice steady.  
         “I’ll...” _Damn it, at times I thought I wouldn’t see you again._ “I’ll grab my keys.”  
         Beka meant to turn, but it was Yuri who grabbed onto the rim of his shirt instead. The sudden scratch of his nails made the Kazakh’s abdomen contract, but he hoped he hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t like the other times when he met people after they’d yelled at him; he wasn’t afraid of Yuri. He just didn’t think that Yuri would touch him so soon; he’d looked terrified before. Beka almost got the urge to say “Don’t do that, Yuri, it’ll scare you”, but he realized that wasn’t his place to state. It was just him being fearful of seeing Yuri afraid of him again. That was why he flinched, and that was why he felt hesitant to go back to his apartment, just because he didn’t know what triggered Yuri, though he had his assumptions. Yura let him go.  
       “Can we… Take the bus or something?”  
       _Do you not want to be that close to me?_ That was the first thought that crossed Otabek’s mind. However, Yuri hadn’t minded riding with him before.  
      “You know that’ll take a while at this hour, right?”  
       He looked down and nodded. _Do you need time?_ Otabek turned his head to find the people at the dining table. “Hey, I’m heading out.” He told them, even though he was looking straight at Yuuri. “Thanks for dinner, Carter, it was great to meet you.” Then he turned to Peach. “You. No practicing tonight, ‘kay? Tell Lay I’ll catch her next time.”  
       Yuri suddenly grabbed him by the hand. “Come on.” He sounded irritated.  
       “Lock the door!” Beka warned his friends as he was dragged out. He checked his pockets and found that his phone was in one of them, but his wallet wasn't, then he remembered that he had a twenty in his other pocket, and his metro card was inside his phone case. All because it made him anxious to leave people waiting in lines for him to take money out of his wallet, then wait for him to arrange the change inside of it.  
         Yuri stopped when they got to the the sidewalk and he let go of Otabek’s hand. “I’ve never taken the bus here before.”  
       Otabek kept himself from grinning. _Weren’t you dragging me just now?_ He was so cute. Beka was so glad to see him. He was even glad that Yuri was so eager to get them going. Beka tilted his head in a gesture for Yuri to follow him. Had he Uber’ed there? It was dark in their neighbourhood at night, all of them avoided going far by foot when the sun went down. He should ask, if Yuri were to come again— _Oh, he could be coming again._ That was quite the turn-around.  
       “Who’s Lay?”  
       Beka was caught by surprise. Yuri was looking straight ahead, but Otabek could swear that he was frowning. He wasn’t going to lie, that humoured him quite a bit.  
       “Mm?” Otabek asked, just to get Yuri to turn to him.  
       “Who’s the girl, Otabek?”  
       _Are you, by chance…?_    
       “She’s Peach’s girlfriend.”  
       “You tell your friends you’ll catch their girlfriends next time?”  
       “To be fair, he’s the only one of my friends who has a girlfriend, and he doesn’t seem to care. I mean, she’s not interested in me, I’m not interested in her…” Beka didn’t how to finish that, so he just shrugged.  
       “Are you interested in girls at all?”  
         “I don’t really care about gender.”  
         Yuri sighed. “I knew it. You give off this huge bi vibe.”  
       “I wouldn’t say I’m bi either, I just don’t care about that stuff.”  
       There was no point in wondering either, since the only person he'd fallen for had been Yuri.  
       “Beka, that just screams flight-risk.”  
       “What does that even mean?”  
       “That whoever wants you is basically competing with everyone else on the planet!”  
       Otabek had to grin at that. _You’re jealous. Holy crap._ It was so surreal that Yuri Plisetsky would worry about everyone else on the planet. Had he no clear notion of himself? If Yuri wanted him, that’d just automatically scratch everyone else on the planet.  
       “I think people’s principles should say whether they’re a flight-risk or not.”  
       “Ugh, you’d need to consider everyone else’s principles, too.”  
     Beka shook his head. “Mm-mm.” He turned slightly at Yuri to catch him with the side of his eye. “If it were me, I know I wouldn’t be shaken by anyone if I had the one that I wanted.”  
       “How can you be sure of that?”  
       “’Cause I’m not shaken now even though I don’t.”  
       _No matter what._ He knew what Otabek was talking about. He knew exactly who Otabek was talking about. It was magical how expressive his eyes were. Yuri decided to shrug it off.  
         “If your smartass doesn’t consider my principles, I might snatch ya.”  
         “Oh, that’d just be redundant.”  
       He laughed. “You’re so cheeky tonight.”  
       _‘Cause I missed you. I’m getting carried away._  
       “Sorry. I think it’s the first time I’m talking to someone all day.”  
       “Did you miss school?”  
       “No. But I didn’t feel like speaking more than I had to.”  
     They exchanged glances then. Yuri caught up. There were things Otabek couldn’t talk about with anyone else, and the Russian teen was aware. He was sorry for it. Beka could tell. They spent the next minutes until they got on bus completely silent. It didn’t matter then that they weren’t speaking anymore. Just to be sitting next to each other, going to the same place together, didn’t that mean they had a chance? Of talking things out when the time came? Otabek pointed places out to him along the way. When he showed Yuri where Phichit’s parents lived, they talked about him for a while. There was a nightclub Yuri had gotten into with a fake ID, and he actually pulled it out of his wallet, along with his official one. They looked identical. And that picture was so pretty, if Yuri had more of them, Beka would want one to keep in his wallet. How did anyone look that good on a 3x4 anyway?  
         Otabek wish he wasn’t romanticizing that bus ride so much. It looked like a movie scene. There was an infinity of songs that could be playing then. _“I know all about the things we cannot speak/And the questions can’t be answered easily/But I want it to be easy/So nod your head if the plans have changed/Shake it, love, if they’ve stayed the same/Smile at me and I will stay/Start to cry and I’ll go away”_ , or maybe something lighter – it depended on the way the story would go.

 

* * *

  
         When they arrived at the apartment, there wasn’t anyone there. Or, at least, no one in sight. And Otabek’s heart started to pound out of his chest when he was lead, not to Yuri’s bedroom, but to the door that had been closed on his birthday – where the blonde listened to songs that he didn’t want to admit to. It was his studio. He didn’t like anyone going in there, Beka remembered hearing that perfectly. So why? He was even more bewildered than when Yuri had actually taken him to his bedroom, where the walls were painted green and covered in posters. Everything else was black with tiger print details. If that was Yuri’s bedroom at nineteen, Otabek wondered what it looked like when he was even younger. It made he feel like he had missed out. How many posters had he taken down throughout the years? How many diferente colors had his walls been? Or his curtains, or Potya’s bed. Still, it wasn’t too visually stimulating, it just had _a lot_ of personality. When it came to his studio, as soon as Yuri opened the door, it was like his vision was taken aback. It was the complete opposite of that whole apartment. They were surrounded by dark purple covered with sketches and reference pictures, inspiration art, random writings on the wall that were clearly done with paint. “What survived may not be kind, but it’s me.” Beka had heard that saying elsewhere and it had resonated with him back then, too. It jumped out of the wall. “IT HURTS ME TOO” in big, red letters. That was Yuri’s mind. It was the place that Otabek had most longed to visit, but it made him ache, deeply. Like the whole room had been built on ruins and was haunted by the pain of whatever was buried underneath it. The drawings hung on the walls; someone with both hands on their scalp, pulling their hair; watering eyes; frames from manga or pages of them. One caught Otabek’s attention because the background was black and the art was in white, it looked like a guy on the rain, crouching in front of a cat. “Are you unwanted, too?” He asked the cat and it meowed back. “You’re all alone too”, the guy said. “Poor thing, I also have no home to return to.” Otabek didn’t know where that was from. He wished he did. All those things that had caught his eyes were easily lost because there was so much. There was so much to look at. To think he hadn’t stopped to think about how weird it was that he was staring at Yuri’s walls, his own things, his own head. So that was why he didn’t want people coming in. It was incredibly personal. It would make other people sensitive, too. They had a tendency of being offended when someone felt alone or misunderstood. It was just another form of selfishness.  
         “Come here.” Yuri said and his voice seemed to tame all of the demons.  
         Otabek hadn’t paid attention to the canvas across from him because it was covered by black fabric. There was some kind of sheet of paper underneath it, it had black, red, gray and orange stains. Yuri kept his paintbrushes in what looked like a small bucket of which the Kazakh couldn’t figure out the color anymore. He had so many of them, in different shapes and sizes. _Ha. Those ink palette things._ Otabek was so incredibly amazed by everything, he was questioning if he should even there. Wasn’t that guy just too out of his league? When the Kazakh scanned the room more, he saw that the table was “L” shaped and it was long and covered as well. He had so much material, it was fascinating.  
         “I know, it’s crazy.” Yuri said, standing next to the canvas.  
       Otabek quickly turned to him and he didn’t even bother to mask that he felt like he’d been taken to a different universe. “It’s so… You.”  
         “So it’s crazy.”  
         “It’s chaotic.” Beka somewhat admitted and somewhat corrected him. “Beautifully.”  
         “ _Heh._ You don’t scare easy.”  
         “’Scared’ sure isn’t the way to put it.”  
         Yuri smirked. He crossed his arms. “What is?”          
         “Mmm.” Beka squinted his eyes, he took another look around. “Provoked? Enthralled?” He stopped when he met Yuri again. “Inspired?”  
         Otabek loved the kind of smile that Yuri showed him, the one that started with a grin, then showed his teeth and made his eyes look puff. After that, the memory of the last time they had been together in that apparent was impossible to ignore. But just the night before, when they had kissed until their lips felt sore. Yuri took one more side step.  
         “That was exactly how I felt.” The blonde said as he uncovered the canvas.  
       The Kazakh was sure that his pupils dilated two sizes. In front of him, there was black and gray, and metallic covered in red. Barbed wire. _He really did it._ What term was he supposed to use? Flattered? Humbled? Grateful? Otabek just couldn’t believe that Yura had spent time creating that. It was bizarrely accurate to the thoughts in his head when he'd written it. _“Your drunk thoughts are my 2 A.M’s, you know?”_ Damn it, he didn’t deserve all of that. Yuri’s voice came right from Otabek’s side.  
         “Can you tell?”  
         He couldn’t look at the teen. He felt like he would never be able to pay him back. It was one of the most thrilling pieces he had seen from Yuri. The way that the mob of black figures piled on top of each other in apocalyptic despair, posed like zombies and in paint on the canvas behind the wire. Behind the fence. And there were pieces of what looked like skin hanging from it, as another piece of evidence that someone had been able to scape other than the blood stains. Otabek was hypnotized by it. He was unconsciously reaching for it, but he managed to stop himself. People weren’t supposed to touch art pieces. Then, he felt Yuri taking his hand gently and leading it to the canvas, guiding his fingers to feel the textures.  
         “I really like that about you. You’re careful to touch.” Yuri told him quietly. “But don’t worry about this one, it’s yours.”  
       It’d make it the third time that Yuri drew something related to him. Otabek was struggling to find what to say. _You shouldn’t have_ would be the polite thing. But the truth would go more, like: _Don’t do this me, I’m already in so deep. I love you so much; it makes me confused._ He wanted Yuri to tell him what to make of it, what to think. Then Yuri let go of his hand. Beka had barely noticed that the painter had had to step behind him in order to guide him that way. He felt Yuri’s forehead on the side of his shoulder. He couldn’t see him at all.  
         “Sorry I freaked out on you.” He said, with a small voice. “I didn’t have the face to invite you over, that’s why I went to get you. And I’ve been working on this for a while, so it didn’t start as an apology.” They remained silent for a second. “I know you have a lot of questions… Thank you for never asking them. I’m really fucking glad I met you.”  
           Those words were more commonly used as the last ones people told each other. It made Otabek want to turn around and see Yura’s face, but the blonde grabbed the Kazakh’s triceps to keep him in place.  
           “ _Hehe_. I kinda wanna bail.”  
           _Baby_ … Otabek found Yuri’s fingers on his right arm with his left hand and tried to reassure him. Of anything, really. Even if he wanted to bail, he could. He felt the blonde’s fingers relax under his and Yuri nuzzle his nose against the older man’s shirt. Beka leaned his head back on the teen's shoulder and that just seemed like a way of holding each other without letting each other see what the situation made them look like. Whatever unsaid feelings that they didn’t want to show. Suddenly, Yuri’s hand and his switched positions and he felt the teen’s lips kiss his shirt for a quick second. Then Yuri was gone, for all that Otabek could see. Until he turned, and saw that the blonde had paced to the other edge of the desk, the he lifted the cover off of it too, and Beka could tell that it was neatly organized, even though he hadn’t moved from where he stood.  
       “I’m gonna showcase all of these sometime next month, at this sort of art timeline event at Otis.”  
       Literally one of the best art schools in the States wanted to feature him at a show dedicated to his genius and Yuri called it a “sort of art timeline event”. Otabek already knew it, but he had thought it’d be sooner from Viktor’s prediction.  
       “I still have some sketches and old notebooks at my grandpa’s and it’ll take longer than expected to get here, but I guess this will be enough to give you a clear picture of… well, me.”  
     He gestured with his hand for Otabek to go to him. At that edge, Yuri pointed at colorful crayon dolls on what looked like an assignment from preschool.  
     “That’s my dad in what I think was supposed to be a suit.” He scoffed. Beka glanced at him as he glazed at his own drawing. He had such a nostalgic look on his face. “And this is mom, see? With the long-ass hair.”  
       Otabek smiled. “Yeah, I do.” He pointed at the boy with the same long hair, careful not to touch the piece of paper. “And that’s you, right?”  
       Yuri nodded. “Why the fuck did I draw myself the ugliest?” He laughed. “And that hair! I don’t think I’d even had the time to grow it out by then, what a fake.”  
       “Did you want to?”  
       “Yeah, everyone complimented my mom on hair, and they said I looked just like her, so I wanted to grow it out as soon as possible.” He moved on to next one. “I think here it was already true.” Yuri said, pointing at the two floating faces on office paper. “That’s my nanny, by the way.” He clarified, pointing at the face of the woman with glasses. “But I already told you what it was like back then.”  
       The blonde stepped to Otabek’s other side where there were school notebooks open on different pages. He could clearly see Hiei.  
       “Guess.”  
     Otabek was correct on the first. Then the blonde took it in his hands and showed the next page to the Kazakh “And that’s Lelouch.” Yuri turned the page for him, looking proud. “Edward Elric.” He turned again. Otabek had to laugh. “That’s Sasuke.” On the bottom of the page: “And Kakashi” On the next page was a girl no pupils. “Hina—“  
       Yuri stretched his neck to check the drawing without turning the notebook around.  
       “That’s it for you, bi-boy.”  
       Beka pretended to be serious. “Yura, that’s a married woman.”  
       “Can never be too sure that shit’ll last.” He noted, jokingly, closing the notebook and spreading the other one open on the table. A drawing of Motoko Kusanagi from Ghost in the Shell appeared in the previously hidden page. “Damn, was I trying to pass as straight? What the fuck.”  
       “How old were you here?”  
       “Probably ten. This is my notebook from after I left school.”  
       “It’s really good.”  
       “That’s ‘cause Viktor gave me proper tools and I had too much time in my hands.”  
       He’d started giving his drawing different levels of shading and dimension, and they were blended so beautifully, it didn’t look like a ten-year-old’s fanart.  
       “It’s close to where I wanna get.” The blonde continued. “I think this kid would’ve turned out fine, even though he was a closeted weeb.” Although Yuri was joking, the lightness in his tone had vanished. The notebook in front of him was closed, it had a black, hard cover. Yuri anxiously stared at it.  
       “Still wanna bail?” Beka asked, concerned for him.  
       Yuri shook his head, somewhat reluctantly. His fingers ran across the cover. “I guess it starts with my dad? And the trial? It’s crazy the shit that you get away with when you have connections. I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if even the judge was in on it. But the one who was in it the deepest was mom.”  
       The painter didn’t look at Otabek as he spoke. He seemed like he was using his finger to draw on the cover.  
       “I didn’t know, but what happened was: yeah, dad stole a shit-ton of money from a lot people, but he shared it with everyone who helped him out—like my mom, who basically married him to give him good press and a family or whatever, so the public wouldn’t suspect anything. But there was fighting and cheating and dad refused to give her part anymore, so she opened her mouth, and that was why she left, and why she had to have me testify, because I was the only one who’d know what went on between them.” Yuri turned to Otabek, his waist against the desk. “She left everyone else out of the story, so they turned on dad, too. The State had to have known, but it’d be already hard enough to win a case against Mikhael Dietrich. They didn’t need all those other powerful old men and their fancy-ass attorneys. So the strategy was to blame everything on him and make him the traitor of his family, who deceived his wife and son and all that crap.” Yura rolled his eyes. “It’s so fucked. She called crying, telling me her story, and I believed her. I thought she’d be back if dad was gone, she said she was scared of him. I mean, fuck, me too, but I don’t think that was fair on me, you know? I agreed anyway. She gave them permission to question me. They said no one would know until it was time; it was our secret.”  
         Yuri opened the notebook. On the first page, there was his name and a drawing of Potya. The teen seemed to have forgotten that it was there. “Viktor gave me this. It was my first professional sketchbook; he gave me on my birthday. He was always giving me things, the old man. This was the first thing I thought of drawing on it.”  
           “She’s really cute.”  
          “Oh, she’s the cutest thing ever.” The blonde’s finger folded the edge of the page, but he didn’t turn it. _How hard this must be for you… You hardly even know me._  
           “Yura, you don’t have to show me.”  
           “It’s not that.” He replied. “It’s just I haven’t seen it myself in a long time.” Yuri let go of it and placed both of his hands on the desk, only his head turned to Otabek, his hair all falling on the other side. “Do _you_ feel like bailing?”  
           Otabek tried to curl the edges of his lips. “I’m ready.”  
            He huffed and pressed his lips together, looking down again and nodding slightly. And he turned the page. It was completely different from everything else. It was realistic and human. It seemed like that was when Yuri’s style bled through for the first time. It was a child, maybe Yuri’s age then – maybe Yuri himself – sticking out a snake-like tongue that was so long that it circled his neck a few times and it was like he was hanging himself with it. When Otabek caught Yuri, he was breathing faster, staring at that drawing. It was louder when he inhaled, it made Beka wonder if he felt like crying.  
             “Yura?” He tried to call in the softest tone that he could muster. That seemed to get Yuri out of whatever place that he was. He swallowed and pointed at the date on the bottom of page.  
           “See? March, 5th. The trial was on the third. They let him come home for my birthday, and that was on the first. There were police outside, but still… Why the fuck did they do that? He got there like nothing had happened, we sang “happy birthday”, I ate cake, I thought I had no reason to be afraid of him—he didn’t know. Nobody else thought he was dangerous either. I remember people had started to leave and he asked to see my bedroom, said that he wanted to talk and that bullshit of wanting of saying ‘bye’ to his son because he could be locked away for good or whatever. Nobody thought anything of it.”  
         Otabek didn’t like where that was going. In his head, he imagined the child trying to play along, unsure of what to do, unguided. As Yuri had said, he’d been terrorized and he’d already made a villain out of that man. To have to pretend to be the same, it was too much for a kid that age to go through. However, if there was something about suspense and mystery that never changed was the warning signs in the story-telling and the thing that could have easily not happened, but, since it had, it had brought hell to the main character. Moving into a new house, matching with a new person on Tinder, coming across a cheap place to travel to… When it came to story-telling, the “if only” was supposed to cause the most of impact on the reader. He-could-have-almost-made-it type of thing. Yuri shouldn’t have ever been in the center spot of that narrative. The anxiety was already building up.  
           “Turns out he’d found everything out.” The impact. The initial shock. The overwhelming curiosity to learn what happened next. “He sat me down and all I can remember was that he was brushing my hair when he told me and he said: ‘You’re pretty, just like your mother—“ Yuri licked his lips. A flare of cynicism flashing on his face. “’And just as much of a snake.'”  
           Yuri’s eyes weren’t exactly filling up with water. They were turning red. “Then he raped me with my mother’s hairbrush.”  
           The blonde had a challenging expression on. Something that dared Otabek to be strong enough to take it. However, even without the build-up, even with no plot at all, Beka was shaking all over and he could feel his throat clogging, telling him he had no storage for pain as paralyzing as he was feeling. The images of watching Yuri on TV, so young and seemingly fragile, yet determined and courageous. To think that he had already been cheated by life and its sick ways of building character. He had to sit on a stand and look at a man who had wounded him and fight with what he had even though there was no way that he had healed yet. _“Trapped in that courtroom.”, “He goes through life with an open wound”._ How had he ever found the strength? Otabek couldn’t be the one to cry there. If Yuri wasn’t giving in, he had no right to.  
         “Yura, you couldn’t have been more than...“ Beka managed to voice out in one breath.  
         A smirk appeared on Yuri’s face and his expression had already changed. _He is trying to calm… me?_ “It was my eleventh birthday, remember?” The smirk turned into a grin. “Don’t look like that, I totally blacked out. Viktor is the one who found me and said to my grandparents that I was sleeping and took me to a doctor that he trusted, so word wouldn’t get out. Then he turned the world upside down so dad would be found guilty and I wouldn’t need to go through a goddamned pedophilia case.”  
         “Why did you still do it?” Otabek was ashamed of how weak his voice sounded.  
        Yuri quickly brushed the Kazakh’s cheek with his thumb. “I thought he might have done stuff like that to my mom, too, and that was why she’d left.” The teen showed a sad smile. “What a damn stupid kid.”  
         He started flipping the pages of the sketchbook and Otabek struggled to keep his eyes on them. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what to do, he could barely breathe and everything in him told him to run and find a corner where he could scream. There was anger there, yes, but the overwhelming feelings were inexplicable sadness and hopelessness. Why had it happened? It shouldn’t have happened. What was he doing when Yuri was gathering all of his strength to speak up? Eating a bowl of cereal? Worried about the medals he had been awarded at school? Couldn’t he have been useful at least once in his life? He couldn’t do anything for Dali when she was getting beat up. All of that time, Yuri was walking around with such a heavy burden on his shoulders and what had Otabek ever done? Brought him food? Taken him out? How the fuck had he missed that? Every time that Yuuri and Viktor had warned him that it was serious and he couldn’t have just taken the cue and become reliable?  
         All of the other drawing seemed to be of Yuri himself. Sleeping, crying; the back of his head, blindfolded; covering his mouth. Those were all forms of expressing himself and giving him a face, a body, to project himself into the world because he had disappeared from it when he had blacked out. Otabek was desperately holding back his tears. He understood, now. And it broke his heart in pathetic little pieces. There was a small part of his brain, minuscule, that felt special to be looking at everything that Yuri had been hiding. In one way or another, it was engulfed by a heart-wrenching guilt that he should have said “Hi” the first time that he saw him on campus. He should’ve approached him. And all the times that Otabek had figured that Yuri wanted to be heard and he wanted to talk to someone, but it seemed like he didn’t have that person. And all the times that he doubted that Yuri cared about him—he should’ve believed it, since it was all clear. That guy was making such an effort to open up, and to him no less. Beka had been so incredibly blind.  
       “You see I got super self-absorbed, right?” Yuri asked, in a playful tone. “So Viktor told me to try drawing other people, so, when I got to a new school in St. Petersburg, I started picking people out to draw—did I tell you that I went to live with my mom and my grandpa?”  
      Yuri moved on to the next sketchbook and that one opened vertically.  
       “No.” Beka replied, trying to sound normal. Yuri clearly wanted to move on. “But you said your grandpa helped you sleep.”  
       “Yeah, I was having some real nightmares.”  
        Honestly, all the references to the main story were a punch to Otabek’s stomach. But Yuri flipped the pages quickly, the faces of strange kids and teenagers, clearly showing how fast he evolved because each portrait was better than the other, until there was only a blank page after the other.  
       “I stopped this one ‘cause I went to live with Viktor. Are you ready to hear that story?”  
       Yuri lifted an eyebrow. Another challenge. Otabek nodded, although he couldn’t deny to himself that he was scared. Next, there were watercolor pieces taped to the desk. Beka remembered those; the teen had probably started posting them online by then. They were either angelic or bloody, no in-between. It was a blonde woman in most of them. _His mom._ It was the same woman from “Vanity”  
       “After our reputation went to shit, her career was over.” The teen told Otabek, his arms crossed, looking over the painting like he was staring at a patient through a glass. “I don’t even know when she started taking meds, but it didn’t take long until she couldn’t sleep without them. I mean, I knew she was depressed, but I didn’t think she’d go full-on psycho on me.”  
       Otabek was scared to hear. And embarrassed because of it. He didn’t let it show. He put on a serious face and he listened carefully, but he knew when his blood pressure was dropping. Yuri turned to Otabek and pointed at the painting of the woman on his side, one in which she looked like an angel. He tapped on her face with his finger a few times.  
        “I woke up one day and this crazy bitch had cut all my hair off!” He said it like he was telling a teacher a student had copied his work or tripped him on the yard. “I swear, if I hadn’t woken up, she wouldn’t have left a hair on my face. I felt something cold, like, on my eyebrow, right?" Yuri pointed at his left one. "All that time I thought it was raining, so I was like ‘fuck, the window’s open’ so I jumped out of bed to shut it and I ended up with a nasty razor cut on my forehead!”  
         Why was he saying it so lightly? Yuri seemed to be spilling it out like he had when he spoke about coming to California, like he wanted to shout it from the rooftops, but no one would listen to him. Because it was too trivial. Had someone made it sound that way? Otabek could imagine it: _“Oh, it’s just hair”, “At least it didn’t leave a scar”._ He’d jumped because he'd felt unsafe waking up with someone’s touch on his face. Of course. It was so clear.  
         Next was Yuri’s first oil paint, on a small canvas, a bloody blonde boy in front of a mirror. That was the start to everything, to the kind of art that he created thus far. It seemed to make him sad to look at it.  
       “But, anyway, I didn’t know who I was when I looked in the mirror. I hadn’t gone to sleep like that, _ya_ know? I thought, if maybe I hadn’t wanted to look like her so much, dad wouldn’t have taken it out on me and it wouldn’t have pissed her off to see a younger version of herself everyday.” Yuri took a deep breath and a side step, turning his back on Otabek to look at the other part of the desk. “I haven’t worked it out yet, so, when you touched me in the morning, I freaked out. I’m really, really sorry.”  
           What the hell sort of privilege was that that Yuri was the one apologizing to him?  
         “Don’t be.” Beka said “Not a day in your life, Yura, should you be sorry for the marks stuff left on you.”  
         He huffed and he seemed to be giggling to himself. “You’re really—“ He stretched his arm back to offer Otabek his hand. He took it, and Yuri guided him to the middle of the desk, next to the materials, where the drawing pad that Otabek recognized was. The blonde took it gave it to him. “Open it.”  
         The Kazakh had been curious to look through it for a long time, but he was still unsure if he should, but Yuri insisted. When he complied, he saw the park, probably the view from the apartment, and he instinctively looked for himself at the bench. To his surprise, he was there. When he flipped the page, it was like the zoomed in version of it. On the next, it was Otabek’s profile, his same earphones, with his eyes closed. On the corners, there were small sketches of his hair or his hoodie, questions in Russian such as “What are you listening to?”, “Do you hate school?”, “Where are you from?”, “How old are you?”. The reason for the tingle on Otabek’s eyes was different. He smiled at the irony of it, because he had been wondering about Yuri, too. For such a long time. He flipped the page and there was his back on the balcony, in the clothes he had worn to the birthday party, then a portrait of his with teary eyes. _Is this how you see me?_ It looked like a sort of journal, keeping records of the times they had seen each other. Walking to school each holding a snow cone, talking in an Art classroom, even a hand pointing at the sky and a balloon that said “That’s the stinger in the constellation of Scorpius”. Otabek didn’t know that his soul could be touched in such depth. Yuri’s whole face was red when the Kazakh looked up, but he was staring at him attentively. The most beautiful person that he had ever seen. _What does this mean?_  
           “Beka, I—“  
           A knock on the door. “Yurochka, our dinner is saved! Yuuri said there’s soup there! I’ll pick it up, do you wanna go?” Viktor asked behind the door.  
         They looked at each other for a short while. “No, but you can give Beka a ride.” He replied. “It’s safer” He mouthed at Otabek and walked up to the door, opening it just a bit. “Can you wait for him at the car? Just gotta finish this.”  
         “Okay, as long as you’re using protection.”  
         Yuri slammed the door on his face and turned around.  
         “Was he here this whole time?” Otabek asked.  
         “Yeah, I told him I was gonna get ya.” He smirked. “And not to tell the piggy.” He walked up to Otabek and placed his hand on the Kazakh’s cheek. “But Yuuri knows about everything, okay? If you wanna talk.”  
       Beka understood. Firstly, Yuri needed space. It wasn’t comfortable to pry oneself open. Secondly, he was concerned. And, as unfair as it sounded, Otabek couldn’t look past how sweet he was. Tragedy did create the most beautiful things.

 

* * *

   
   
   
       Leaving the studio was like switching universes. The apartment looked colder than usual due to the contrast, but it was so minimalistic, it looked like a project. Either that or the studio was an imaginary place. Yuri walked out with him, but both of them had a hard time moving. It didn’t feel like it had been finished, what Yuri had told Viktor about—whatever it was; their conversation, their goodbye, their reconnection. They just seemed to stand with their backs to the wall in the hallway, where the lights weren’t on.  
         “Can I tell you something?” Otabek asked. “It’s just a thought.”  
         “Sure.”  
         “Don’t feel guilty for the ways you protect yourself.” He said. “Everyone does it somehow. This whole apartment is Viktor’s bubble. Outside, he can give everyone a show and seem eccentric and overly spontaneous, but this is who he really is and how he really feels. Maybe he can feel calmer here. He doesn’t need to pretend here. Yuuri had a room full of posters of him, and that was where he felt connected to his dreams, even when he felt the urge to sabotage himself. That was his own bubble.” Beka could feel Yuri’s eyes on him, listening. “Me, I cover myself up or walk around in it, you know? My bubble.” The Kazakh turned to Yuri, his shoulder against the wall. “If you don’t want people touching you, so what? Can’t you have your own bubble? Does anyone have to tell you how to feel safe? What should bother you and what should not? When you’re literally the only one who could really know how you feel? Who the hell is entitled to that?”  
       Yuri lifted his eyebrows. Perhaps Otabek had gotten too eager in his annoyance. Yuri had really thought that he had to tell the Kazakh such personal events just because of that one instance? Why should he have to justify himself? Even if nothing had happened, all Otabek had to know was what bothered him, no questions asked. Had he been feeling guilty since that day?  
         “There’s more to it.” The blonde said. “Beka, ever since I was sixteen, I’ve been looking for ways to hurt myself. It’s very extreme sometimes, and I just go out and find guys who’ll treat me like a rag doll. I knew that you wouldn’t hurt me. I knew that you’d barely touch me, but I still wanted to be around you because I’d never had that. Even though I was aware that I could be leading you on just to tell you ‘hey, turns out I'm not boyfriend material, sorry’.  
         “You think I’ve been grooming you or something?”  
         “What? No. I have!”  
         “You thought you lead me on, wasn't it?”  
         “Yeah?”  
         Beka smiled. “Yura. I can’t be lead on, my head doesn’t let it.”  
         “Are you sure?”  
         _Adorable._ “I wanna be with you because you’ve respected me, too. And you’re smart, and sweet, and just overall a good person. Oh, and you’re funny. You’re crazy talented and you inspire me in ways I can’t even tell you. You let me stay in my bubble and you make your way in without ever bursting it, you know? It’s like you read my mind, sometimes. I don’t need us to date, that’s not what’s important. You are. And I’m not leaving you, specially for frivolous reasons like that- is what I wanted to say. I’m not leaving you, unless you tell me to.”  
       He smirked again. “Is that a confession?”  
       Otabek showed the love in his eyes and he didn’t hide the love in his voice. “It’s not.” _It’s not time._ “It’s why you’ll be okay. I don’t know who you want to be, Yura, but from where I’m standing, you’re good. You’re moving on the best that you can, in the one life that you have. You don’t need to apologize for anything.”  
       The blonde grinned and rolled his eyes. “Fine!” He complained “Take it as me introducing myself to you, like I’d promised.”  
     Beka offered his hand, like the first time. Yuri shook it. It was peaceful now that he knew that their feelings for each other were floating in their bubbles. What label they put on it didn’t matter. Beka smiled at him.  
       “I’m _honored_ to meet you.”  
       It was the first time in the night when Yuri let a tear leave his eye, but he didn't allow it to drop, he quickly wiped it away with his free hand. He sniffed and pretended it never happened.  
       “This makes it two times I’ve shaken a fan’s hand.”  
       They laughed at the reference and felt accomplished enough to walk to the elevator and wait for its doors to open.  
       “I’ll text you.” The Kazakh said before he entered.  
       “You’ll text me first?” The teen questioned, doubtful.  
       Otabek had to join him in that doubt. “I’ll try my best.”  
     “I’ll wait.” The blonde replied.  
     Still, their feet didn’t allow it to close. What was a way of saying goodbye after what they’d been through? It didn’t feel right to just turn around and leave. And Yuri was standing there, with his reddened eyes and nose, looking fragile, and yet not at all. Even though they hadn’t explicitly said them, their feelings were out in the open. They couldn’t act like friends from school anymore. Yuri was the one to wrap his arms around Otabek’s waist and tug tightly at his shirt. Beka hugged him back and they were inside one sole bubble.  
       “Thank you for trusting me.” Beka whispered. He moved to kiss the blonde’s forehead, still feeling Yuri’s nails through his shirt. They gazed at each other. “You know, I thought you were strong, but you’re invincible.”  
       The blonde scoffed. “Damn fanboy. Get outta here!” He joked, laughing.  
       “Good night!” Beka told him and took a step back. “Soup’s really good, so wait up, ‘kay?”  
       “Then tell the geezer to get his ass back ASAP!” He demanded as the doors closed.  
         _Noted._  
 

* * *

 

   
     Otabek hadn’t had a chance to think it through, getting in a car with Viktor. It was late at night, so it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes by car, but as soon as he got in, it clicked. _Viktor knows it too_ , what he had just learned. And Viktor had been there through it. Fuck, he had carried Yuri out after--  And he’d been the one to support him throughout Yuri’s life and Otabek felt a sense of gratitude that he had no right to voice. No guts to do it either. _“I didn’t do it for you”, he could say._ Or not, Viktor wasn’t that kind of person. He’d probably thank Otabek back for caring, as he had before. Why did it feel so stuffy in there? Was it because the windows were closed? Was it because of the classical music? Viktor said something about it, he was looking for music for the next student showcase, so he was going through the work of all the musicians that he admired every chance he had. He asked if it was annoying. Beka shook his head. Could he tell that Otabek was uncomfortable? He was starting to sweat. The picture of Yuri being carried out didn’t leave his brain. They’d gone to a doctor, yet they had never pressed charges. Did they hide it from the family too? Who had taken Yuri to the doctor for his cut in St. Petersburg? His grandpa? _“I fought his father, his mother, in court, in every possible way.”_ How much of it had they have to go through? The picture of Yuri’s bloody face and short hair didn’t leave his brain. His heartbeat was getting faster.  
       “Are you feeling okay?” Viktor asked him.  
       Otabek nodded again, crisscrossing his fingers to hide his shaking hands.  
       “I gather you know now.” The Russian man concluded.  
      All that he had learned became a mess in Otabek’s brain. Yuri scared, Yuri manhandled, violated, Yuri hurt, Yuri passed out, carried out, turning his hands into fists, going to sleep, Yuri bloody, unrecognizable, assaulted – again. Yuri terrified of him in the morning. Yuri yelling at him to leave with both of his hands on his face. Otabek felt like crying. He tried to control his breathing, but that only made him feel more suffocated.  
       “Do you have questions?”  
       _Why did it take me so long?_  
       “Do your parents know?” Otabek asked, faking calmness.  
       Viktor huffed. “It’s one thing if they ask Yurochka to forgive a thief, it’s a whole ‘nother one if they ask him to forgive his abuser. And they would, I know they would.”  
       He was getting nauseated. He remembered his grandfather raising his hand at him for not answering his father’s phone calls. The entire family thought that Yuri had forsaken his father for being a corrupt politician, didn’t they? And he didn’t want anyone too close to him, so they thought he was arrogant or oversensitive, didn’t they? But, still, it would be worse if they blamed him for holding a grudge against a man who had raped him. He wanted to cry. He desperately wanted to cry.  
     “Why?” He managed to ask, unable not to voice his angst.  
       Viktor noticed. It took him a second to reply, after patting Otabek’s shoulder.  
       “He's Yakov’s son. Although my mother already had a daughter of her own, she wanted them to have a child together, and that was me, just because she thought I had a good form for ballet, but Mikhael was the one she had to love the most, just to prove Yakov that she could be his wife and his son's new mom. He might as well have been their only child.”  
       _Damn it, to hell with him!_ When the car stopped at the front of the house, Otabek tried to open the door, but it was still locked, he couldn’t find the lock, even though he knew exactly where it was, but his hands wouldn’t obey him. Viktor told him to hold on, but he finally pulled it.  
         “I can’t breathe.” He spat, meaning to say that he was sorry for making a fuss, barging out of the car and already walking away.  
       He couldn’t get in, there was no air there. He needed to find the darkest place in that street where he could lose all control. He heard Viktor shouting his name, but he ignored it and only walked faster. The Russian didn’t know the neighbourhood; it would be easy to get him off his tail. Because the tears were already coming out and they weren't enough. There seemed to be a roar stuck in his throat, echoing inside of his head. Why had that happened to Yura? He saw it clearly, as though it was in front of his eyes, Yuri’s smiling face, and he heard the sound of his laugh, remembered how pretty his fingers were covered in paint. The brushes in his back pockets. The blonde hair falling on his face. The curl of his lashes, his winged eyeliner, the tattoo on his nape, the burn on his back, his yellow socks, the charcoal. Otabek couldn’t even feel his steps anymore. He could see nothing but a blur in front of him. He had no idea where he was going.  
         Him, drying Otabek’s sweat. _“Did I order a marinated fanboy?””You looked like you wanted to jump off”._ Otabek let out a heavy breath and wiped his eyes violently. _“Fucking same”_ He was weeping, even the soft blow of wind in ever-stuffed California made him aware that his face was drenched with tears. He found an alley and he remembered thinking earlier that it was dangerous to be there, how they avoided it, but Otabek didn’t care at all. Fuck, if he was stabbed in the back he might not even feel it. If he got beat up, it’d make sense. Where was he when all of that was happening?! The concrete on the wall seemed to poke holes on his knuckles. Who’d let it happen to him?! He was just a child! Beka could hear his own sobs and they were loud and pathetic, but it seemed like he would never stop. If he didn’t lock it within himself, he could feel that pain for the rest of his useless days. Why should anyone live if, at any moment, they could become a tragedy? If their entire life should be a collection of irreparable damage? _“It seems like, for you and I, whenever it’s not drizzle, it’s a shitstorm.”_  
       _“When he’s ready to talk to you, be ready to listen.”_  
         _Did I fake it well enough, Viktor? Does it still count if I break down here? I won’t tell him, I swear._ Otabek sat down, his wrists on his knees, his hands fighting each other in the middle of them. Men who’d treat him like a rag doll. Yuri had said that. So it’d continued to happen and he’d been blinded, he couldn’t see his worth at all. It was so unfair. _“How long have you known me?”_ Damn it, he couldn’t stop remembering. All that he saw was Yuri and the confusion of it, of another person seeing the same thing that he saw, and deliberately hurting him made his head ache. Then Otabek heard Yuuri’s voice calling out his name in the distance. He didn’t move, he just continued weeping quietly, with both of his hands in his eyes. _“Yuri needs you, Kin.” I should’ve listened to you_. But the whole time Otabek was too caught up in his own problems, and his own doubt, and his massive, soul-defying selfishness. _“if there’s anyone who could love Yuri right, that person is you.”_  
          _I do love him. Believe me._ Otabek didn’t know who he was trying to convince. _“When it comes to you, he is just ashamed and afraid. Yuri likes you a lot.”_  
         _I should’ve gone after him._  
_I shoud’ve showed him he didn’t have to be._  
       “Kin!” He heard Yuuri shout and repeat as he got closer. He must’ve gotten on his knees beside and across from him. “Kin-kun, what’s wrong?! What happened to you?!”  
       He’d forgotten how to speak. It seemed like all that he could do was cry.  
       “Did Yurio, by chance—“ It just made him sob louder. “Oh my God.”’ Katsuki murmured, leaning towards him, leading Otabek’s head to his shoulder and holding him there, his other arm around the Kazakh’s shoulders. “Cry to your heart's content; no one's listening.”

 

* * *

 

 


	17. Tique-taque

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! So I came back from a trip to Florida last week and we all thought the plane was gonna crash and I was just like "Damn, so I won't be able to finish the fic????" Haha. Anyway, glad to be here. Thank you for everything. ♡

 

* * *

 

 

    They were allowed to leave the lecture early in order to work on the assignment, the song they were supposed to produce as the first part of the project, then perform on the second, at the end of the semester. Leo decided to go to the studio and keep working on synths, whilst Otabek borrowed a piano of the university. The professor had been kind enough to let him use his private music room because there were students at the public one at the moment. Beka gave his friend the key and asked him to lock the door as he left – he’d stay there until the end of the day, working on instrumentals that’d complement the beat and on lyrics, which mattered the most to him.

      When it came to song-writing, Beka preferred to always use a piano sample to create the mood for his words. Even if his project partner were to put them over an electronic track, the lyrics didn’t have to be meaningless. He was seeing it more often, party songs that talked about sadness or broken relationships, about missing a person or being hollow. Wasn’t that mostly why people partied anyway? Because they felt hollow? It’d have to be piling up dollars on bar stools; suffering fools looking for fun, being slapped in the face by an equalized tune about drugs and depression. That’d get Beka drunk easy.

       And he felt melancholic. He had cried his whole heart and soul out to Yuuri, but it had been a few days since then. It didn’t feel like his guts were being ripped apart anymore, it just felt like he had been left open. Even the softest breeze caused him to chill. Even the smallest drop of water burned. Even the slightest touch felt like claws. Otabek didn’t like it. He was too vulnerable at that time. It was hard choosing whether he’d write the truth to bare it as he sung later or if he’d channel some other version of himself, from some other time, who had felt a type of pain that he remembered and could explain in metaphors. Every sentence that his mind built, however, wasn’t part of his story. Not any of them. They were all narrators – no, mere speculators - of Yuri’s. His supposed thoughts and his supposed days, his monster of a father, his reflection of a mother, the complexity of their affairs and the fragility of their child.

      _Supposed_ fragility of their child.

     Otabek let himself feel the keys and warm up to them, just playing whatever melody he had in mind.

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**Bright Eyes – Ladder Song**

 

No one knows where the ladder goes

You're gonna lose what you love the most

You're not alone in anything

You're not unique in dying

I feel a strange every now and then

Fall asleep reading science fiction

I wanna fly in your silver ship,

Let Jesus hang and Buddha, sit

 

        He wasn’t singing along to it. He didn’t have to. It was playing very clearly in his head. It’d been fairly simple to figure out the chords by listening, they weren’t complicated – it was the lyrics that made them stand out. Just a simple Bm, then Bb plus Bm transition, followed by an E-minor and a G the whole first verse. _Then A._

_D. “It’s on now_

_The days are – A – long now_

_The ups and the – G – sundowns_

_In a twisting – A – mind_

_If I’ve gotta – D – go first_

_I’ll do it on – A – my terms_

_I’m tired of traitors, always changing – A – sides_

      “They were – _B_ – friends – _A_ \- of – _G_ – mine.”

      Otabek could tell why that was a 50K grand piano. A classic Steinway, probably rebuilt because the professor had had it retire and sit there at his music room, just so it could stay a medium a little longer, to bring those sounds into the world, even if not to a theatre, to a hall, at least to that room, even if it were a shame that the door was closed and there would probably be complaining if the sound reached the outside. The music made Beka forget about the walls, took him to the top of a mountain, over the sea, where he’d been left stranded and there was no need for language because there was no one. There was only him, his instrument, and the instruments of casualty and conformity – the wind, the birds, the leaves, the waves. 

      It was a good thing that he still remembered it. When he’d first started playing, Otabek worried he’d forget the chords after he’d spent hours practicing a song. It was only after he learned how to listen properly and to hear the notes as if they were a language that he could make out and repeat, that he trusted it didn’t matter how much time he spent away from a piano. Like it didn’t matter how much time he spent not speaking Kazakh. Sure, he’d draw a blank sometimes, but it was fleeting. The words, the notes, they were always there, somewhere.

     The last chorus was extended, and completely different from the rest. He remembered Conor talking about it in some interview, how, for a long time, he did not repeat his chorus, no matter what. He felt like it’d be a blow to his honor as a lyricist. It seemed to happen to his compositions as well.

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**Bright Eyes – Ladder Song**

 

We'll welcome the new age

Covered in warrior paint

Lights from the jungle to the sky

See now, a star bursts

Looks just like a blood orange

 

        “Don’t it just make you – _A_ – wanna – _D_ – cry?” He let the pause run as he ran his fingers down the already pushed to silence keys, then moved them again. “Precious – _B_ – friend – _A_ – of – _G_ – mine.”

        Otabek heard the door being opened, so he just signaled for Leo to wait until he was finished. There was only a few lines left. _B-minor. Will I know when it’s finally done? This whole life’s an hallucination…_

“You’re not alone in anything…” _E-minor._ “You’re not alone in trying…” _Okay, done._ “To be.”

       The Kazakh turned around, ready to stop procrastinating and start working. “So what do you ne—“

       It wasn’t Leo. Beka was instantly consumed by a tidal wave of embarrassment.

       “Fucking shit, I’m gonna buy you a piano.” Yuri said, standing near the door, his hair covering one side of his face.

       His brushes were in the side pocket of the backpack he was carrying over one shoulder, the side where his black overall was buttoned, while the other side exposed the rainbow colors of his sleeveless shirt. Otabek tried to gather himself.

      “What for?” He asked.

     Yuri pouted as he thought. “I don’t know…” He made a face. “Easter?”

     Both of them let out a laugh. _Most adorable thing._ Beka offered his hand for Yuri to come closer, he took it.

     “I wanna hear you play more, but the Music building is too fucking far.” The teen explained.

     “The fact that you’re not sweating is appalling.” Otabek said, pulling him down to invite the painter to sit next to him. “But, then again, I didn’t expect to see you here at all. How did you get the key?”

      “Your DJ friend gave it to me.” Yuri replied, leaving his backpack on the floor. He turned his torso towards Otabek and suddenly lunged forward, their noses touching. “I got a knife to his neck and threated to cut his dick off if he didn’t, so he had to.”

      If only he knew that getting that close to Otabek was nothing close to threatening. Although, his heart skipped a beat and, if those eyes kept glaring at him, that green and beautiful, it might not beat again anyway. Maybe that’d really be the most effective way of scaring Otabek to death. Yura should just cut his dick off. Beka lifted an eyebrow, trying his hardest not to turn that into a _moment,_ trying his hardest not to make things weird and make good of his words. Yuri could do that, he could play around, still. Beka wasn’t going to kiss him or anything. He wouldn’t. Then the painter smiled and sat straight again. The Kazakh had to let out a breath. There was no such thing as being too close when two people were just friends, right? Even when they knew so much about each other. Or when one kind of liked the other, and the other absolutely adored the one with every inch of his being.

     “I was having lunch with Viktor at the cafeteria and he was having lunch with Katsudon. We met there by chance and he just threw it at me.” Yuri forced a heavy sigh. “Your buddy said I had to come see you, ‘Beka is anxious thinking things are weird between you two, and you haven’t been able to meet because of work’, blah, blah, blah…” He threw his head back and suddenly both of his elbows were on the keys of the piano. The sound made the blonde get out of character and his eyes widen just a bit. Beka had to let out a chuckle.

       “He doesn’t call me that.” The Kazakh challenged with a smirk on his face.

       Otabek could’ve sworn he saw Yuri’s eyes sparkle while just gazing at him. “Yeah, that was all me.” He admitted. That was a very round-about way of telling someone they’d been missed.

     Beka led one of his legs over to the other side the bench, just so that he could sit closer to Yuri.

     “I’ve been anxious, too.” He said. “But all it took was you coming here and I’m fine.”

     The blonde huffed and stretched out an arm so he could rub Otabek’s cheekbone with his thumb.

    “Oh, the roads I’ve traveled to grant that wish…” He joked. It was a really long way from the Arts building indeed. Beka could attest to that, so he smiled and looked down.

    “And yet not a drop of sweat.” He said as he turned to Yuri and faked annoyance. “So unfair!”

    What a heart-warming laugh. To think Beka had felt hollow before, that his mind had wondered to distant places where no one was… The way that Yura touched him, it sealed his wounds. Clothed him. Protected him from exposure, from the elements, from wanting – even trying – to be left alone.

 

* * *

 

    

       As they both sat in front of the piano, Yura played with the keys somewhat loosely, but he went from the first to the last, and tried making chord progressions in between—even though he didn’t really know that that was what he was doing. He was just curiously checking what sounds he could make and what went together.

       “Did you know Viktor plays?”

       Otabek had never heard of it before, but it made sense. For a person who relied on music for a career, it was smart to play an instrument, even if only for creating a base for a musician to work on. He had the looks, too. Beka could easily imagine Yuuri swooning, watching his boyfriend play. The Kazakh, on the other hand, when contemplating playing in front of Yuri, he felt shy. Yura’s fingers were long and pale, they looked beautiful on the keys. Beka’s body wasn’t long—he had had a late growth spurt after leaving his parents’ house, but his features were still rough. He didn’t look nearly as refined as Yuri.

        “Mm-mm.” He replied, not wanting to pull the painter into a conversation. Otabek was the most joyful just watching him and listening to what he came up with.

        “He doesn’t like it, though.” Yuri continued. “I only hear him play at fancy dinners with stuck-up people. Gross.”

        “Do you like the sound of the piano?”

       Beka caught a glimpse of a grin forming on Yuri’s lips.

       “Yeah.” He breathed. “I wish I had the patience to learn, but I never go through with any of that shit.”

       “We can start easy.”

       “What?” The blonde voiced, and it came out almost as a giggle.

      Otabek got suddenly excited. He adjusted himself and he played the first two lines of “Unravel”. When he heard Yura gasp, the Kazakh felt instantly accomplished. Good thing he had went on to learn the song. There’d be a day when it wouldn’t be accompanied by his family’s cursing anymore. It was all for Yura.

      “I’ll show you the right hand, okay? That’s all you need.” He said, then went on to do a simple version of it, that sounded just as beautiful. Just calmer. Almost like a whisper. And Otabek broke down the lyrics in syllables so that Yura would know exactly when to press a key. “So, ring finger you play the A, then with your pinky you play the B. Just these two white keys here, right?” The blonde nodded attentively. “Then you go back to A, and now we move to the black ones over here, so next are G-sharp and F-sharp.” He repeated the whole sequence. “Oshi-e-te, o-shi-e-te-yo… See?”

      “You are one smooth motherfucker, Altin.” Yuri teased. Beka would argue, but he was hoping to hear the blonde’s reasoning. “Show me again.”

      Beka gladly did as he was asked and Yura tried right after him, hesitating a bit before each note, but getting all of them right. Then repeating all by himself until the rhythm was perfect. And they moved on to the next part, without the Kazakh ever knowing why the hell he would be called ‘smooth’.

       “’Kay, now your thumb goes to E.” Otabek said, only leaving his finger below the key to indicate it and letting Yuri press it. “Now right next to it, it’s D two times.” The blonde just shifted his thumb to the next and Beka almost reached out to guide him, but realized that he could just show Yuri later. “Then E again with your middle finger… Awesome. Now C-Sharp with your thumb, the black one above D.”

     “That’s a lot of letters.”

     “Sorry, I’d mark them, but I’d have to sell a kidney to pay for this piano.”

     “If I bought one, would you teach me?” Yuri asked, looking at Beka from the side of his eye.

     Beka had to show him a smirk. “If you’d like that so much, I’d buy one myself.” He said, instantly feeling his face burn and Yuri’s turn red. He hardly ever blushed and, although dazzling, it made a mess of Beka’s thinking. Yuri was too damn pretty. The Kazakh cleared his throat. “But anyway,” He started. “If you switch to your index finger for D, it’ll go more smoothly, like… So-no shi-ku-mi wo.”

      “Oh!” The blonde voiced. “I’ll try.”

      So he did, but it really was more complicated fingerwork than the first part. Otabek tried to show him again, but it was hard for Yura to keep up when he had to follow a rhythm.

      “May I?” The Kazakh asked.

      Yuri nodded. So he guided the blonde’s fingers and the progression sounded great. Then Yuri tried it once more by himself and it was…

      “Perfect.” Otabek let out, sort of against his will. He just felt like he was in a dream.

      The painter shook his head playfully. “Was that even 10 seconds worth of the song?”

      “The first ten seconds are the most important ones.”

      “Oh my God, you’re so damn biased.” The blonde teased. “Show me how it’s really done.”

      “You did it how it was really done.”

     Yuri squinted his eyes. Yeah, that’d been just a tiny, tiny bit of how it was done. The Kazakh sighed, then adjusted his hands on the keys. Yura seemed to get giddy next to him. _Cute._ So Beka played the entire thing and he’d almost regretted it when the rhythm picked up. It was too obvious that he had shown Yura a much simpler version of it. He wondered if the blonde would be angry about it.

       “You passed the first stage, Otabek Altin.”

        “Of…?”

        “The test to become my teacher.” The teen replied, showing a smile that could’ve saved Beka’s whole life. “So, next!”

       Otabek should’ve seen it coming when Yura asked him to play another song. He also should’ve predicted that playing wouldn’t be enough, the teen wished for him to sing, too.

      “What’s on your mind?” The Kazakh asked.

      “Something in a language I don’t know?”

     It’d never cease to be amazing how Yura was interested in the unknown, the way that his eyes beamed with curiosity and how he paid attention and asked questions, or for what he wanted, when the opportunity came. He must’ve been wanting to hear Beka show off his language skills since he’d learned of them. It was _so_ Yura how it wasn’t a bad thing to “show off” near him. He rather liked it. Asked for it, even. Of course it was the same with Otabek, but it still boggled his mind that Yuri took so much interest in him.

      The last song that he’d learned how to play was the first one that came to mind.

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**[Villain (빌런) - A Piece of Work (밉상](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6iPb2W4lQs)) **

The writing on the wall is now unclear

It’s not erased, but, because so much time has passed

It’s blurry and covered with dust

I was raised well and had it all

I couldn’t give up, I couldn’t live like that

At first, I couldn’t get out of it-

I was living well, right?

I wasn’t in pain, right?

 

            In the beginning, Otabek just appreciated how Korean still sounded okay in his voice. It’d been a while since he had studied it; he’d forgotten how gratifying it was to actually pronounce words after he’d learned the exact way of doing so. However, when the song started picking up, he remembered why he had stopped and stayed at school to use one of the pianos to play it: it laid his soul bare. The vocals oscillated all the time, there was hardly room to take a breath during the specific lines that broke his heart. That was the beauty of it, how it was painful in every possible way – to play, to listen, to sing. How it’d been painful to live through.

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

 **[Villain (빌런) - A Piece of Work (밉상](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6iPb2W4lQs))**  

What’s the point of fighting over time and then throwing it all away?

Throw it all away, it’s broken

Didn’t I tell you?

I’ll say everything, and don’t twist my words

You told me to be smart, not a little brat

You didn’t care, you told me to keep my chin up

That’s why I can’t be like you

I’m just nervous, dying on the inside

 

     The worst part of it was: the point of the lyrics wasn’t some late conclusion that it wouldn’t be possible to be like Dad or to make him proud. It was a late cry. Because, after growing up and thinking it over, it had never been a possibility. Even as child, there was sadness that came from an unknown void that kept being filled by superficial, one-sided wants. The character that the lyrics were about cried after realizing, and accepting – with some bitterness, some regret – that he’d been deceived the whole time.

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**[Villain (빌런) - A Piece of Work (밉상](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6iPb2W4lQs)) **

There’s a lot to say

Without you, I haven’t been able to say it at all

There was a lot to talk about

 

I don’t need anyone

If you’d just listen to my one word

That’s all I need, all I need to be really complete

 

It was like I hated sitting on the swing

Even if I didn’t watch it (video, video), it was all obvious

Like I’m at ease, how I’m not

You’d laid down a line

(You’d left it in sight)

I couldn’t see it

I didn’t see it

I couldn’t help myself either

But you’re really a piece of work

 

          Without saying a word, Yuri gently led Otabek’s head to his shoulder. Then made as if he were scratching the Kazakh’s stubble, but he’d just shaven before leaving, so it was just Yura caressing his jaw. It was comforting in a way that made Beka doubt that they were even there. It was such an instant response for him to not allow himself to believe that there was place for him to be, one where someone else was – or that someone was the place itself – and where he could let the skin shed.

           “I guess that was about family trouble?”

          Beka huffed and nodded. He realized again that he’d sung in a whole different language.

           “What gave it away?” The Kazakh asked.

           “I mean, I could only catch the English words.” Yuri started, Beka felt his chin on his own hair. “But I get you just fine.”

           Otabek grinned to himself. “That’s nice to hear.”

           “And you’re a damn good singer.”

           The Kazakh rolled his eyes and hid his face on Yuri’s chest, his forehead on the blonde’s shoulder. Yura laughed at him, throwing an arm around the man’s neck and his hand finding the back of Otabek’s head, now scratching his undercut.

           “Suddenly shy, why, are we?” He teased. And the lightness of his tone made Beka feel like he could melt and merge with him. The Kazakh stayed there, leaning on Yuri, but turned his eyes to the piano again. “Get used to it, I’ll wanna hear ‘Unravel’.”

          Beka quickly brushed it off. “Too high for me.”

          “Tough. We’re just gonna have to adapt.” The blonde stated. “How was it again?” He asked rhetorically, already starting what he had learned from the top.

          “You learn fast.”

         He scoffed. “Don’t be fooled, I don’t have a goddamn clue of what I’m doing.” He just kept repeating the first part until he was satisfied. “It’s easier for me to remember what your hand looked like rather than the sounds.”

       It made sense, since Yura was a painter, for him to have a better grasp of imagery. It fascinated Otabek all the same. He was going to ask about it, but the blonde got caught on that same finger-switch and Beka adjusted them for him one more time. When he was pleased with it, Yuri asked him to do the left hand. _To melt, and merge with him._ They just completed those first ten seconds, but they were, indeed, the most important part. They set everything up for the whirlwind of emotions that would come next.

        “Beautiful.” Beka pointed at the end, very aware of Yuri’s arm around him and the contrast of their hands on the piano. He hoped Yura would keep that picture in his mind, too.

 

* * *

 

 

       On the Friday night that they finished the whole arrangement of the song, Leo and Beka brought home pizzas and beers for dinner. Although the lyrics still weren’t good enough, they’d be okay with some adjustments. After seeing Yuri that day, it’d been easier to write about longing rather than self-destruction. Although they had only planned to see each other again on Sunday, as it had turned out, Viktor was coming over later, so Katsuki got the cue to extend the invitation to his nephew. Because Yuri and Otabek were fine. They were friends. One of them was madly in love with the other, but that one knew how to stay quiet. If the atmosphere was comfortable enough for both of them, then it was all that he could ask for. More than he had ever dared to hope for, really.

      The Kazakh headed to the shower as soon as he arrived. It was a relief to not have that assignment hanging over his head, as he’d had all week. He’d hit the gym the day after, then there would be a whole script to translate and adapt for dubbing. That’d be a first and he was excited to try it out. Beka was pleased with how he was doing professionally. He understood that freelance translating wasn’t enough to make a living for most people, but since he could do such uncommon combinations, he’d been able to support himself well enough since very young and was on the right path towards having the financial stability that he actually wanted – enough to get by, to work on his bike and his music, and to go traveling consistently in the future. It’d turned out pretty well for him that there weren’t enough translators from Kazakh to Portuguese or Japanese to Russian. Companies could have him translate to multiple languages and actually save post-production money.

       He was honestly considering buying a piano, but a purchase like that would tie him down and it’d been hard enough to leave his old one in Detroit. He needed to keep in mind that he had a goal, and that was to leave California as soon as school was finished. It wouldn’t be logical to spend money there when he didn’t think of settling down.

       But he’d really love to see Yuri play again, and to teach him. Beka guessed Leo’s keyboard would have to do for the time being. He didn’t indulge thinking of a scenario where Yuri was there, still, when he settled somewhere. Since it was already evening and he was home, the Kazakh put on sweats and a tee. He always let his hair dry naturally. Yura’s drawing was framed and the note he had left was taped to it. They’d come a pretty long way since that fight with Nick.

       Everything was set on the coffee table. The Kazakh drank some water before sitting on the floor on the left edge of it. Yuuri and Peach were on the couch, gossiping about common friends. Leo still hadn’t come out. He always blow-dried his hair. The bell rang just as he finished getting ready and the American man went to answer the door. Viktor greeted him with a smile, holding two bags from KFC and already went inside, placing both on the table and leaning down to kiss his boyfriend after sitting on the arm of the couch that was next to Yuuri. The nephew, however, greeted Leo quite coldly and walked behind the counter to place something in the fridge. It was probably dessert. Beka tried to be nonchalant about it, just looking from the side of his eye while drinking his beer, but Yuri was wearing jean-shorts and a gray hoodie with its sleeves pulled to his elbows. His hair was in a messy high-ponytail and he looked so at home, it reminded Beka of the night they had gone over to his house for karaoke and Yura opened the door. So young and unbelievably gorgeous. The night they had kissed until their lips felt sore. _It feels like forever ago._ But Beka still remembered it vividly.

      He made sure to not be looking when Yuri turned around, and only saw him when the blonde sat by his side and took the beer out of Otabek’s hand, taking a sip of it right after. He licked his lips and his eyes wondered as he gathered his thoughts on the drink.

       “This one’s better than Viktor’s craft crap.”

       “Probably a tenth of the price, too.”

       “I’m sorry, how old _are_ you?” Leo inquired as he squinted his eyes.

       Yuri glared at him. “I’m _Russian._ ”

       Then the American man turned his eyes to Otabek and the Kazakh shrugged. “He is.”

       “Yurochka has a higher tolerance to alcohol than all of us put together.” Viktor added.

        “Really? When did you start drinking, Yuri?” Phichit asked, friendly.

        “Beats me. It’s common in Russia to start drinking early. We have beer with, like, actual meals and stuff.”

        “What’s the legal age there?” The Thai man asked again.

        “Sixteen for beer.” Viktor replied. “Eighteen for everything else.”

        “Is that even safe?” Leo questioned.

        “Safer than being gay, apparently.” Yuri ironized.

       That started a whole conversation about Russia’s current anti-gay propaganda. Viktor spoke strongly on the subject and reminisced on what he had done with his art to challenge the country’s laws and protest. Yura had been doing it since very young, posting watercolor paintings of same-sex couples and posting whenever a new poll came along to discuss LGBTQ rights. They were both so self-assured and confident in who they were, it wowed their hosts for the evening. Leo, having already finished his second beer, told them his story with Guanghong and they were sympathetic in different ways. Yuri said that it was dumb to dwell on sexuality since it didn’t matter for anyone else, really. Viktor tried to comfort him about the Chinese man still being in a relationship, saying that him and Yuuri had also waited a long time to be together and it had been worth it.

          “Seems like he already told the guy that we kissed, but he’s still unsure, you know? I don’t blame him, I’m pretty sure anyone’s got a better record than I do.”

          “’Cause yours is one _looooong_ record, my friend.” Peach commented, already tipsy. “We could cast the stars _and_ back-dancers for Chicago with all the women in it.”

         “The art chicks could start a new revolution.” Yuri pointed out.

         “The singers could reboot every girl group there ever was.” Otabek completed.

         “You guys are assholes.” He scoffed, opening his next beer and using it to pretend he had a microphone on him. “I’ve changed, people. In Lord’s name, amen.”

        Although most of them didn’t have a religion they followed, a loud and synchronized “amen” could be heard in reply.

 

* * *

 

 

        The first time Beka’s phone rang he just switched it back to silent.

      “Beka!” Yura exclaimed next to him, a piece of fried chicken in hand. “I dare you to try this.”

       Otabek narrowed his eyes, suspicious. But the blonde just held it closed to his mouth and he ended up taking a bite. It was… spicy.

       _Really_ spicy.

       _Tear-jerking_ kind of spicy.

       “Wow.” Beka voiced, winking nonstop.

       “I know, right? What the fuck.” The blonde said, letting it go and reaching to wipe the Kazakh’s eye with his thumb. There was still spice there. It stung instantly.

      “ _Ow._ ” Beka yanked his head down, already rubbing his burning eye.

       “Oh my God, I’m sorry. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Yuri started freaking out, pulling his sleeves down to hide his hands and holding the both sides of the Kazakh’s face after they were covered. “Are you okay? Do we need to wash that? Come on—“

       “It’s fine, Yura, it’s already going away.”

       “But your eye is all red—“

       Otabek placed his hand on top of Yuri’s covered one. “That’ll go away too, sweetheart.” Then he switched to reaching out and pulling the blonde’s head closer to kiss his forehead. “Thank you.”

       It was only after he caught Yuri’s embarrassed expression that he realized what he had just called him. And that everyone was looking. He didn’t know how to get out of that.

      “Okay, now it’s you guys’ turn.” Yuri broke the silence, still beet-red, and passed on the bucket.

 

* * *

 

 

         The second time that Beka’s phone rang, he sent a text.

         **> You:** Can’t talk right now.

      Yuri had laid his head on the Kazakh’s thigh and he doubted that that was comfortable, but the blonde had played way too many drinking games with Leo by then. They didn’t seem to get along. Peach, however, seemed to have taken a linking to Yuri and cheered him on every time. Katsuki wanted to play some poker, but the American man was keen on Truth or Dare and way too drunk and annoying to be denied anything without making a fuss. Otabek hated those games and seemed to be the one in the most fragile position, having Yuri there with them and everyone else knowing that he carried a torch for the guy. They decided to just ask the person to their right when their turn came, so Leo started with Peach.

       “Truth or dare?”

       “Truth.”

       “Have you ever had a threesome?”

        The Thai man scoffed. “Honey, I’ve lost count.”

        “Of how many times?!”

        “Of how many _people_ were there last time.” Phichit clarified.

       Leo offered him a few claps and Viktor cheered for him like he’d hit a baseball out of the park. The Thai man turned to Yuuri with a devilish look on his face. Katsuki covered his face with both hands.

       “Oh, God.” He lamented.

       “Truth or dare?”

      The Japanese man sighed heavily. “Dare, I guess.”

       Peach smirked. “My dear, dear Yuuri, I dare _you_ …” He took his time just to torture his friend. “To take a gulp of that beer and transfer it to Viktor.”

       “Oh, I like the sound of that.” Viktor said, and, since he was sitting normally on the couch already, he bent his neck and laid his head on its back. “I’m waiting, Yu~uri.”

        Katsuki pondered for a minute and, honestly, none of them knew if he was actually going to do it or just quit the game altogether. However, Yuuri, with his beer in hand, straddled his boyfriend as Phichit cheered, took a gulp, then leaned down to what ended up to be a kiss as Viktor’s hands were quick to wander up the back of the Japanese man's thighs. Yuri covered his own eyes with his hand and Beka had to look away—should he really be seeing that?

       “Get a fucking room!” The blonde shouted.

     

* * *

 

 

      Thankfully, that was enough of Truth or Dare. Yuri was the one to Viktor’s right and he was too busy making out with his boyfriend. Phichit was almost sleeping on the other side of the couch. The third time that his phone rang, Otabek decided to pick up. Yuri had already sat with his back to the couch, so Beka felt like it was a convenient time to not be there when the subject became him and Leo was talking about how they had met and how Otabek handled himself at university.

      “The first thing I noticed about him was that he was kind of a loner, but not in a bad way. What about you?” Leo asked Yuri, as the Kazakh got up.

      “That he was hot.” The blonde deadpanned and Otabek choked on absolutely nothing.

      “Who~?” Leo asked, kind of dazed.

      “What do you mean ‘who’? Beka.”

      No matter how tolerant they were to alcohol, everyone was wasted by that point.

      “Oh, yeah, he could’ve nailed everyone in Music if he wasn’t so dead set on yo—“

      Leo knew that it was better to stop talking when Otabek glared at him as he left to his room. Jamie’s texts were worrying him. It hadn’t gotten as bad as it was in high school, but Jamie talked too easily about suicide, it was scaring him. Since the call had already gone to voicemail, Otabek returned it.

       “Hey, what’s wrong?” The Kazakh asked.

      “I knew you wouldn’t leave me alone.” He replied, sounding like he had just stopped crying. “I’m sorry for pestering you, it’s just… I have no one left, Bek.”

     “I’m sure that’s not true. You’ve always been good with people.”

     “Just ‘with’, not ‘for’. I always fuck it up.”

      “Come on, don’t say that. It’s bad right now, but it’ll go away soon, you know it always does.”

      “Bek, I don’t think I can take it this time. I’m afraid I’ll relapse—“

     “Hey, you won’t, okay? You’ve been clean three years. No one’s worth you wrecking your body. You’ve got too much ahead of you, too much time and talent, you’ll do good for yourself, you promised me.”

      He chuckled. “You remember that?” Then there was a pause. “Damn, I miss you.”

      “Jamie…”

      “Why can’t we?”

      “Come on, it’s been five years. We live in different states now, things changed—“

      “You haven’t.” He stated. “You’re still kind and caring. You still put up with me. I’m still your first, right? I’ll always be.”

       “There was a reason we broke up. If I haven’t changed, then we’d be doomed from the start. And you don’t love me, Jamie, you’re just lonely.”

       “You don’t love me either. You never did. Unless there is someone else, I don’t see why—“

      “There is.” He admitted. “There is someone else. So I can’t be anything more than a friend to you, Jamie. I’m sorry.”

     “ _Oh._ I get it. Is it a guy?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Damn, I think I’d feel better if it were a girl.”

     Beka chuckled. “That doesn’t mean I don’t care, alright? I’m still bad at communicating, but if you do anything like that to your body again, I’ll call your counselor and tell on you.”

      “And you say things have changed...”

     When he turned around, Yuri was at his door. Otabek didn’t know why, but a bad feeling rushed through him. He cut the call short. He was already going to anyway, not to leave Yuri waiting.

      “We’re going home.” He said, as though he had come all the way there to say it.

      “Is Viktor driving?” Beka asked, concerned.

      “We called an Uber.”

     There was something strange about Yuri’s expression, it was blank. Otabek couldn’t read it at all. After a moment of silence, the blonde seemed to grow impatient.

      “Is it me?” He asked, his arms crossed.

      “What do you mean?”

       “You said that there was someone else. Is it me?”

       Otabek couldn’t deny it. And he figured Yuri already knew. He just let his silence be the answer.

       “Have you seen anyone the last couple of months?” The blonde asked.

       “What? No!”

       “Why, Beka?!” _He’s getting angry._ “You told me I wasn’t leading you on, then why the hell are you waiting for me?!”

       “I’m not, Yuri, I just don’t feel like it, what’s wrong with that?”

       He uncrossed his arms and took a step ahead. “Really? Have you gone celibate? I hadn’t fucking heard of that. Last I heard you fucked strangers to cure your blues!”

       “What’s it to you?!”

       “What’s it to me?!” He was just on Otabek’s face at that point. “I told you I can’t date you, Otabek! I don’t wanna trap you either! I don’t want your friends to think you’re a fucking idiot and I’m playing hard to get when I’ve told you my goddamn reasons!”

       “That’s all you, though, I don’t care about any of that. I’m not gonna pretend like you don’t exist and just go around screwing random people just ‘cause you think that’s some sort of merit.”

       “Me?! I can’t be your damn fuck buddy, Otabek! Don’t blame this on me now.”

       “What’s there to blame?! Fuck, I would never want that kind of relationship with you!”

       “Then, goddamnit, find someone else, go back to your ex, something! Don’t fucking wait on me.”

      “I told you I don’t want to! Why the hell is sex so important to you anyway?!”

     From the way that Yuri looked at him, Otabek understood. He didn’t have to explain it. He didn’t have to grit his teeth, grab him by the collar and rub it all over his face that he had screwed up.

      “’Cause it was fucking ruined for me, you jackass.”

      Beka tried to muster something, anything, but he was so disappointed with himself that he had fucked up that badly, even he knew that talk was cheap. “I didn’t word it right, I’m sorry—“

    But Yuri was already leaving. He didn’t want to hear it.

    He said so himself.

     

* * *

 

 

           On Saturday morning, everyone in the house was sleeping. By the afternoon, they had all woken up hungover. Moody, sleepy, exhausted, emptying a blister pack of Advil. They should have changed it to the Friday Booze Fest from Hell a long time ago. It was life-changing to have the free time to just _dread_ drinking that much the night before. And Yuuri was dreading dry-humping his boyfriend in front of his friends, Phichit was dreading not replying to any of the texts he received after the first beer, Leo was dreading losing to Yuri so many times and Beka was dreading just losing Yuri.

       It’d been a stupid fight. Maybe if none of them had drunk anything, they would’ve been able to talk it out. Maybe Yura wouldn’t have been so angry. Maybe Beka wouldn’t have been so insensitive. Katsuki was right; they should stop those activities in that household. All four of them were lazily trying to make sandwiches for breakfast – or lunch - and complaining the whole time. It was too bright, even though the windows were shut, and Beka’s eggs were sticking to the bottom of the pan, Leo had let the ham fall on the floor, Yuuri couldn’t believe there was so much trash in the living room from the night before and Phichit thought the dishes were disgusting.

       They gave up at some point and just accepted that they had done the best that they could given that their heads hurt like their eyes were actually _trying_ and making an _actual effort_ to come out of their sockets. Phichit was speaking on the phone with his mom in Thai and, just from his tone, Otabek was able to tell that she was scolding him. Probably for disappearing for eighteen hours. Lay seemed to be more understanding. Carter had had a night shift the night before, so her last eighteen hours had been just as eventful. And much more praise-worthy.

        “Everything that contains alcohol in this house is going down the drain.” Yuuri warned.

       “My fucking love life is what’s going down the drain.” Leo corrected.

       “My whole self is going down the drain.” Otabek said.

       “What are you losers going on about drains?” Peach asked when he hung up the phone.

       They just stopped speaking for no reason and turned to grunting crankily instead.

 

 

* * *

 

 

       That time, it was different than the other times they’d had issues. Beka knew Yuri better now. He wasn’t torturing himself trying to figure out what to do. He knew he had to apologize, he was just scared of how Yura would respond to it. Otabek had been thinking – _thinking_ , not drilling holes into his brain – that maybe the painter was more serious than he had considered. Maybe it bothered him that they couldn’t date in a stereotypical sense, be a stereotypical couple, and he thought of himself as some kind of dead-weight and that Beka’s love life had stopped its trails because of him. Yura didn’t know Otabek well enough. He hadn’t told him that he was usually quiet and that it was good sign that he wasn’t out there just looking for one-night-stands to shut his brain. When Otabek wasn’t out of control, he usually kept to himself – and ‘it’ in his pants. He didn’t think of sex as something necessary. There were way too many other ways to get off that didn’t involve other people. It was only when he wanted to die, when he felt like absolute shit, when he thought ‘Yeah, I am, indeed, dirty’ that he gave up and did all the wrong things, just for the rush of it. Just to try and make himself believe that he didn’t care, when, all the while, the whole problem was that he cared too much.

       He hadn’t needed to resort to any of the bad things since that blonde painter had, finally, walked – physically and willingly – into his life. Because there hadn’t been a time when it’d gotten “worse than normal”. Because, even if everything got screwed to hell, Yura was there. As an occasional visitor, a familiar stranger, a friend or, at least, just a possibility. To spark curiosity or, in the worst possible case, some hope. He was such an iridescent human, a source of opaque sunlight that didn’t exist on the planet – one that brightened the world around him without hurting his eyes. One that he could look straight into without going blind, just blind-sided. Just thinking about what would happen the next day, when they’d meet again, what they’d talk about, what they’d do together, it was all the rush Otabek needed. It was all that he had been looking for his entire life. Just something that he had no control over – differently from his grades or his career – to keep him believing that not everything that was unknown to him was bound to fail or out to get him. That, sometimes, the casualties of the universe could lead to things that were surprisingly good.

      On Sunday, Beka rode his motorcycle to Viktor and Yuri’s building. And he was allowed in by one of them, he didn’t know which. When he got to the door, the blue-eyed man was the one who opened it. Otabek had been bold, he hadn’t even asked if he could go or if Yura was home. If he weren’t, he’d ask Viktor if they could talk. He’d be pleased enough listening to his stories, then he’d try again at school the next day. However, the blonde was indeed home.

       “He’s at the pool.” Viktor said.

      So the Kazakh made his way down. He saw Yuri, alone in that huge pool, his hair slicked back, all wet, standing – or sitting, Beka didn’t know how deep that part was – against the wall. Then the Kazakh walked around, thinking of waiting until he got out, not wanting to bother him since, if he had gotten all the way down there and stayed still, all alone, then maybe he wanted to be quiet. Otabek crouched down behind one of the pillars of the deck, being able to see Yuri’s profile and how he was playing with the water with his hands, but not wanting to be seen. The Kazakh wondered what that person might be thinking. If he was sad, or lonely, if there was someone out there who understood him. If he missed his granddad in St. Petersburg. If telling Beka everything had caused more damage than it was worth. If he remembered any of the traumatizing events that had befallen him more vividly than he’d like to say out loud. After a while, Yura was just staring ahead blankly, soaking further ‘til his chin.

       _What’s troubling you so much?_

 The Kazakh was well aware that it was most likely a combination of things. Yuri drew a breath then, disappeared in the water. It seemed like he was just seeing how long he could keep himself under. Otabek also held his breath and counted in his head. 25 seconds, then Yura was gasping for air again and Beka could let out the breath he’d been holding. _I won._ And he felt himself smile. Then the blonde hair couldn’t be seen again, so Otabek accepted the second round of the game Yura didn’t know they were playing.

      _… 26, 27, 28,_

      The teen still hadn’t come up. _I don’t like this game anymore._ Pleading in his head – as if his thoughts had any power – for Yuri to, _please_ , resurface, Otabek ran and he crouched down again where he saw the top of the blonde’s head underwater, his arms stretched one to each side, he was about to pull him up. _Please, Yura--_

And so he did. He resurfaced. All of a sudden, so quickly that water splashed around him, turned away from Otabek, the teen took a while to catch his breath. _What the hell was he trying to do? “When it gets worse than normal, I do painful things to myself and let people I don’t know nor want to know do painful things to me”_ , the Kazakh remembered the painter saying. His heart still hadn’t untightened. When Yuri turned to him, unknowingly, just brushing his fingers through his hair to leave, Otabek knew that he couldn’t go home without telling him that he loved Yura most in the world. If everything, their whole lives were just a counting of seconds, then there was no way that ten weren’t important in the beginning of a song or 45 holding one’s breath underwater. Time was passing, fast. The time that it took to count one second was enough to turn to the next and that went on and on. Too many years of his life had been spent not knowing Yuri. So many that he resented counting. If Yura had spent 20 more seconds under there, he would’ve passed out. A minute more, then it would have been enough time to have no time at all.

       “Beka.” He said, rubbing his reddened eyes. _A forest fire._  “What are you doing here?”

       _Hey, what would I have done without you?_ Ever since he was thirteen-years-old, Yura had started shaping Otabek and pushing him, motivating him, showing him how to be brave. _I don’t seem to exist unless you do._

        The Kazakh huffed. “I know I fucked up big time, but will you forgive me?”

        Yura caught the reference instantly and rolled his eyes. “You can do better than ripping me off.”

        “I’m not waiting for you.” He started. “I’m moving alongside you. If you stop, I’ll stop. If you walk, I’ll walk. I don’t want short-cuts or detours or hitchhikers. That’s my choice. Whatever you want to do, it’s yours. If you wanna go back, you can. I just need you to know that I’m not trying to lead you anywhere.”

        The blonde swallowed. He was standing on the pool, it was deep enough that the water leveled on his chest.

         “Don’t do this.” He said, his arms crossed again. “I told you, you’ll only get in trouble if you keep not putting yourself first.”

         _Oh, beautiful..._ “But I am.” Otabek countered, taking off his shoes and letting his legs sink into the water. “You told me to only pick fights for my own sake, so I decided to fight for you.” Then Beka was in the water with him, up until the chest, with all his clothes still on. “Because I want you. However scared shitless I am of saying it, I’m doing it for me.”

        Such expressive eyes, open widely, staring at Otabek like he had just shared a life-long secret they had promised not to tell, not even to each other.

         “Beka, there is nothing for you here.” He murmured, taking a step back.

         “I’ll argue this time.” The Kazakh stated, determined. “What do you want me look for in someone else?”

        Yuri made a face like it was obvious. “Someone who won’t snap at you? Who isn’t all fucked up in the head? Who you can have an actual relationship with?!”

        “Don’t you think I feel the same? That maybe you’d be better with someone who could communicate with people, who didn’t freeze when yelled at, who didn’t shut himself up in his room for days at a time?!”

        “Beka, I’ve been telling you that I can’t be with anyone else, you don’t understand! Nobody wants an unfuckable boyfriend!”

        “Who told you that?! Yura, a relationship should be adapted to the people in it, we don’t have to follow rules! ‘The hell, do you think I’m that shallow?”

        “Well, _I_ am!” He shouted. And Beka couldn’t be intimidated by it, because Yuri started to cry. It took no time for him to look down and start sniffing, dragging him arm violently across his cheeks. “But I can’t do it, Beka, not with you. I’ve been losing sleep over this, but I can’t fucking grow up. I’m not that kid that you look up to anymore. I’m terrified of hating you, too, but I don’t know what to do, I’m so fucking clueless.”

         “Yura," He tried "if I tell you I’ll leave and you never have to see me again after this, will you tell me the truth?” The Kazakh asked, hoping, even though his heart was breaking. “Tell me what’s hurting you. _Please._ All of it.” He whispered, already knocked down by seeing his tears.

      The blonde cried quietly as Otabek stood there, not knowing how to move. The sun was almost out. They sky was gray-ish blue, It seemed to wash over them like rain. Then Yuri sniffed one more time and looked at the Kazakh again. _So you do feel it too. I wasn’t crazy._ Nobody had looked at Otabek with so much love – and so troubled by it – in his lifetime.

      “I wanna keep you to myself.” Yuri admitted with a small voice and his lips kept trembling when he pressed them together to keep himself from crying. “I stopped faking it with Mila because wanted _you_ to kiss me. And no one’s touched me since you did, because I only want  _you_ to touch me.”

       Beka’s own eyes started to sting. Yuri wrapped his arms around his ribs like he was holding himself together.

      “I’ve been thinking of what to do to stay with you, but I—“ He looked to the side, trying to stop the tears from falling, then looked at Otabek again. “I can’t seem to get… cleaner, not even if I scrub myself raw.”

       Otabek’s tears come down without asking for permission, hot and fast. And he took a step towards Yuri, but he looked so fragile, Beka was afraid of scaring him again. He knew that feeling, down to the bone.

       “Yura, you’re perfect. No one has the power to make you unclean.”  

     “What if I hate you?” He asked, but it sounded like he was asking himself. “What if we get too close and I forget again that you’re… _you_?” He reached out with shaking fingers to touch Otabek’s cheek. “I have never once associated you with pain.”

     Beka nodded as wiped his own tears, just in a way of saying ‘thank you’. _I don’t deserve you._

      “But I want you. I’m jealous of everyone you’ve been with. I’m just afraid, Beka.”

     The Kazakh nodded again and led Yuri’s palm to his lips so that he could kiss it. It tasted like chlorine and it felt colder than when it was on his cheek. Then he held onto it, just guided it down to the middle of them.

      “I swear,” Beka started “from the bottom of my soul, that you, the way that you are, with all that you carry, you are _so,_ " And he couldn’t stress this enough "so much more than I’ve allowed myself to dream of. I’ve been wanting to say this for a while." He let out a huff "I guess I’m always late.”

      Yuri seemed to accept it and reached out to wipe the Kazakh’s new tears with his wet hands, even though that made no sense.

      “Don’t settle for a dream you had when you were a kid.” The blonde said.

      Beka held both of his wrists and made Yura listen carefully. “There’s no one else I’d ever want you to be.” Yura’s hand were still not moving on Otabek’s shoulders, but his eyes made it clear that he remembered. “When I call out your name, it’s you, the way you are now, who my heart stops for when turns to me. It’s you I don’t want to avoid. You, that I don’t want to isolate myself from. It’s you, who I want to tell my feelings to, even the ones that scare me. You are the one who doesn’t get how major this is for me. I wouldn’t trade this for anything, let alone for something as worldly as fucking.”

         Yura’s hands slowly found their way to Otabek’s neck. “I don’t wanna screw this up either. So shouldn’t we let it burn in a flare instead of just burning out slowly?”

         _“_ _Yuri told me, at eighteen, that beautiful things were only beautiful because they were gone in the blink of an eye”_ That was impossible. Otabek had been looking at Yuri for years.

         “All you’re saying just sounds like you’re trying to protect us.” Beka told him, leaning down to let his forehead touch Yuri’s. “Look at me, Yura.” Then his soul was pierced by bright green eyes that waited for him speak, attentively. “I love you.” Otabek finally said and he could tell that, even after all that time Yuri was still shocked to hear it. “It’s not a sacrifice for me to respect you.” Without moving, Beka could only kiss the bridge of Yuri’s nose. That made both of them smile. “I wanna protect us too, you know?”

       Yura seemed to give in, just nodding and getting closer, hugging Otabek’s back from under his arms, his hands holding onto his shoulders. _“I wanna keep you to myself.”_ Little did he know that Beka had always been his.

       The Kazakh placed one hand on the back of Yuri’s head, to pull him closer, to keep him there, then he led his lips to the blonde’s ear.

       “Pretend you didn’t hear this for now, okay?” He whispered. The seconds before saying it seemed to mark the ending of a chapter, the beginning of another. Hopefully one with less crying. “Go out with me, Yura.”

 

* * *

 


	18. A boy who's a friend or...

 

* * *

  

     Otabek’s clothes were drenched. That was the first thing that he noticed when they got out of the pool. The second was that he had never seen so much of Yuri’s skin. Ever. He had to will himself out of staring while Yuri dried his hair with a towel, just standing there and looking statuesque, red on every edge, water dripping down his stomach. Otabek had to stop being so fixated on that piercing, but the contrast with the rosy color of his nip—

      _Look away, look away, look away._

     And so he did, twisting the hem of his shirt to try to release some of the water. The smell of chlorine was poignant and his jeans were heavy. He’d have to find something to dry his feet. Beka also should’ve had a haircut, he noticed regretfully, now that the strands were sharp and pointy on his eyes and he had to keep shaking them away. Or maybe he just should have controlled the urge of submerging at least once.

       “You coming up?” Yuri asked, with his towel still around his neck, still drying the hair on the back of his head. It was a tempting invitation.

       “Not like this.” Beka had to reply, shaking his hands dry.

       “There are towels at the deck.”

       “Yeah, but I don’t have any other clothes.”

       “You’re not thinking of going all the way back to your house like that, are you?”

       Beka smirked. “I’m ridin’. I’ll count on the wind.”

       Yuri instantly shook his head and offered Otabek his own towel, even though it made no sense since it was already wet. Again. Beka wouldn’t take it because Yuri was a lot more exposed and he was hoping he would cover himself up soon, otherwise the Kazakh didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep from _drooling._ Yura, obviously, wouldn’t budge and began to try and dry Otabek’s hair and bounce the towel on his face. It was cold, but it felt nice, although it made Beka somewhat embarrassed and reminiscent and start giggling.

        “Yura, it’s—“ So much patting on his face. Then Yura began giggling too. He was playing. “I think I’m good now, thanks.”

        “No, ya ain’t.” The blonde retorted. “Did you forget you were sick just a few weeks ago? You can’t keep drenched fabric on your chest, Beka, you’ll catch a cold.”

        _Are you worried about me?_ “You too, you should go get dressed—“

       “No, no. You, off with the shirt. Now.” He demanded. Otabek couldn’t say he didn’t like it. “I’ll get you one of Viktor’s—“

      _Oh my God, please, no._ Yura turned to go, but the Kazakh was able to stop him by holding his wrist. The blonde turned to him, still half-naked, still looking like he had been crying – because he had. It was a shame that it was already getting dark; Beka wished to see his eyes better. “I have a hoodie in my backpack, okay? I’ll change into it. Is that good?”

      Yuri nodded. “The geezer’s clothes are too lame for you anyway.”

      Beka smiled. “So plain ones will do?”

      “They for damn sure don’t look plain on you.” Yuri said, in a flirty tone that Otabek was yet to get used to, stealing a glance as he walked past him.

      _Man..._ How was he supposed to handle that? And what had just happened? He’d asked Yuri out, hadn’t he? He wasn’t greedy enough to expect a reply, though. He just wanted him to know that, whenever he wanted – if he wanted – they could, indeed, call it that. The terms of it were theirs to decide. Beka was miles over the moon just from learning, from Yuri’s own lips, that he was wanted. It was probably the biggest, most important thing that had happened to him since having the guts to leave home. It wasn’t just anyone, it was a person that had been on the back of his mind, all the time, for the past eight years. Otabek thought it was most likely to never happen for the very reason that he had yearned for it so much. The most natural outcome would’ve been for him to be denied, _right?_

       However, Yura had cried, right in front of him, because it hurt him to think that them being together couldn’t happen. It was all Otabek needed to do anything to make it happen.

      The Kazakh walked right after the teen and they went straight to the deck, where Otabek had left his backpack. While he pulled out his hoodie, Yuri got him a new towel, his covering his back over his shoulders.

       “Thank you.” Beka said, and he prioritized sitting down on the floor and putting his shoes back on. Otabek was leaning against the pillar he had hidden behind earlier. And Yura was sitting right in front of him. Earlier, he'd been so far away. The blonde was just waiting, quietly, but Beka could feel his gaze on him, even as he took off his shirt. As soon as he did, the painter stopped him and leaned closer. _Oh, yeah,_ he had a tattoo on his ribs. An important one at that.

       “What does it say?” Yuri asked, always curious.

      It was getting darker; the teen would have to come closer to look. Otabek just took his arms out of the way as an invitation. Yuri accepted it and leaned farther, the towel falling off of his shoulder just an inch. Otabek just fixed it for him, and let him read. The song started playing in his mind.

 

**⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐**

I have a friend, he’s mostly made of pain

He wakes up, drives to work, then straight back home again

He once cut one of my nightmares out of paper

I thought it was beautiful, I put it on the record cover

And I tried to tell him that he had a sense

Of color and composition so magnificent

And he said: Thank you, please, but your flattery

Is truly not becoming me

Your eyes are poor, you’re blind, you see?

No beauty could have come from me

I’m a waste of breath, of space

Of time

 

     Subconsciously, Yuri reached for the nape of his own neck.

     “When did you get this?” He murmured.

     Beka allowed himself to try to tuck the hair that was falling on Yuri’s face behind his ear.

      “Right after I enrolled in AIC.”

      Yuri ran his fingertips across the tattoo. Otabek hadn’t been that aware of that spot not even when there was a needle scratching his skin and filling it with ink.

      “It’s even older than mine.” The blonde whispered, and the bewilderment could be heard in his voice. Yuri shook his head slightly. “I have one right—“ And he started getting his hair out of the way and bending his neck so that it’d be exposed. “-- here. Can you see?”

      Beka reached down to hook Yuri’s chin and lift his face. He grinned. “I know. I’ve seen it.” Then his grin turned into a smile. “It caught me by surprise, too.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me?” The teen seemed annoyed just because he wished he’d known about it sooner. “Since when do you know?”

      The Kazakh adjusted himself and Yuri straightened his back, so Otabek was the one to lean forward. He pulled both sides of Yuri’s towel to cover his chest and held onto them, picturing what they looked like, sitting on the floor, Otabek all wet for going into a pool with clothes on... He realized that they were _so_ young. There was so much that they could have avoided. So much time that they could’ve saved. Some arguments that, maybe, didn’t need to have happened. They were going into falling in love like middle-schoolers. They didn’t know anything, they had zero experience when it came to feeling such overwhelming emotions because of someone and _for_ them. They were too new to it to quite grasp what it entailed. They were learning the ropes. And it was _fine._ Neither of them were opposed to learning.

       “Remember when I brought you tacos?” He asked, playing with the fabric in his hands and staring playfully at Yuri, like a naughty child. They had gotten over worse secret-keeping before.

      “That long?!” The blonde explained and Beka was slapped on the thigh. “Are you an idiot? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

      The Kazakh sighed and retreated to put his hoodie on. That was enough of the two of them being shirtless. “’Cause that was just half the story.” He said, and offered his hand to help the painter up. Yura understood, he had been on that situation before, so he uncovered himself and took Beka’s hand. Otabek didn’t let go when he got up, instead, he intertwined their fingers. “It came to me when I saw this,” He got his other hand on Yuri’s nape and tried to scan where his tattoo was. “That, above everything - in spite of everything, too -, me, or you or what we’re haunted by... You and I just… match.” The Kazakh showed Yuri a smirk that quickly turned into a smile because he couldn’t, for the life of him, handle himself anymore. He couldn’t get used to the lightness of saying it fast enough. He leaned over to whisper in his ear again. “So think about what I asked you. I promise I won’t bring it up again and, if you don’t, I’ll take the hint—“

       The blonde had to have dropped his towel on the floor because the arm that had it was suddenly around Otabek’s neck and Yuri’s lips were on his before the Kazakh could even close his eyes. He realized, then, just how much he had missed it. Especially the way that Yuri kissed. It was so opposite to what he usually portrayed, so… honest. Slow. Intense. It tasted like chlorine. And it was poignant.

       When the Kazakh figured out what to do with his hands, and  before he could do it, Yura threw him off balance again.

         “It’s on you, now, to break up.” The teen whispered in Beka’s ear.

         And he pulled away, breathing rapidly, with the parted lips and the flaming eyes that Otabek loved so much. Was he  even real? Although the painter’s voice had come out clearly and sent a shiver down his spine, Otabek hadn’t expected anymore out of that night. Then there he had it, a “yes” for more nights. Still, he didn’t know how to react, his brain suddenly malfunctioned. He needed to stop staring at Yuri – the teen was starting to enjoy it and was probably having fun with the utter shock that Otabek was feeling, relishing on the fact that he had royally turned the tables. The Kazakh needed to find somewhere else to look soon because he was starting to scoff in disbelief and holding himself back from smiling like a maniac. He picked his backpack up from the floor and threw it over his shoulder. Yura was already smirking at him by that point. Then Beka picked up Yuri’s towel and, god damn it, they needed to fix themselves and go home already, it was getting too surreal. Therefore, the Otabek wrapped it around Yuri’s hips, trying to challenge that smirk and that eyebrow that he had raised.

        “That’d just make you stuck with me.” He said, and pulled Yuri closer by hooking his fingers in that same towel. With just that one step forward, it was easy to lock lips again. “I told you I’m not leaving unless you tell me to.”

        “So will you come up?” Yuri dared, with that devilish look on his face.

        “... Except tonight.” He had to accept defeat. “Viktor’s there,  I’m soaked and specially now that—“

        “That you’re my boyfriend?” The blonde teased (correctly).

        Oh, he was going to smile again. There was no way that was real. It couldn’t be. But, in the wild scenario that it wasn’t a dream, then he didn’t want to meet Yuri’s uncle for the first time since getting that label leaving a trail of droplets on his immaculate floor.

        “That’s right,” He replied, pinching Yuri’s nose for being mean and making him question reality.  If he knew how adorable he would look when he scrunched it after, Beka would’ve done it sooner. Then, he placed one hand on each side of the blonde’s head, over his hair, and Yuri instantly placed his over them. _Ah, is it too soon to say “I love you” again?_

“You’re staring.”

        “You’re beautiful.”

       Yuri rolled his eyes. “Have you _seen_ you?”

       Otabek also rolled his eyes. “Na-ah, don’t even try.” He brushed off playfully, pulling Yuri into a tight hug, feeling the teen’s wet hair on his cheek, his hands tugging the back of his hoodie as he mumbled about how he would just get Otabek more wet.

 

 

* * *

 

        

        The wind was effective enough – his housemates didn’t notice that he’d been in a pool just an hour before.  Layla was the one who hadn’t seen him in a while, gave him a hug and smelled chlorine. She took it as a hook to say that they should all go to her parents’ vacation home in Orlando in the Summer, that there was an indoor pool there, even if Otabek only wanted to go in at night. Phichit’s girlfried had been around long enough to know that the sun wasn’t inviting to the Kazakh at all. Leo said that he usually traveled to Miami a lot in that season, so it would be perfectly fitting. Yuuri said he’d probably visit his sister, so he’d have to sit that one out. When they turned to the Japanese man to try and convince him, Katsuki started talking about Hasetsu instead and that they had out-door _baths_ , and a ninja house, and so much, _so much_ food. Phichit reminisced the time he visited and, while the people in the kitchen were immersed in conversation, Otabek excused himself to take a shower.

        What'd been bothering the most was that his underwear was still humid and it was a relief to take it off. He washed his hair quickly because they had a visitor and he didn’t want to take long, but, when he wrapped a towel around his hips and stood in front of the sink to brush his teeth, it was like he needed to take a breather. He held on to it and looked at himself in the mirror. Well, that… That had been one eventful day. He had seen that same reflection in green eyes that saw the world in such a marvelous way. What a privilege. And he’d been kissed by the person who had all of his heart – Beka couldn’t help closing his eyes when the memory came back to him. When he stared back into the mirror, he saw Yuri Plisetsky’s boyfriend. Otabek chuckled at Yuri’s Plisetsky’s boyfriend in absolute disbelief that they were the same person.

        Then, he brushed his teeth, got out, changed into casual – dry – clothes and met the group outside again. Layla's laughter was contagious, she was one of the most energetic people Otabek had ever met (only not the most because he knew her boyfriend), her highlights making a pattern on the low side-braid in which she had tied her dark-brown hair. Her and Phichit were freakishly alike, not only personality-wise, but they could be mistaken for brother and sister. She was even wearing a bright blue sports top and his dance attire matched hers. They both worked too hard. It was wonderful that they still found room for fun and love, and shared the same beliefs. Beka didn’t know how Lay’s love life was going outside of her relationship with Phichit, but they hardly ever had anything other than a huge smile on their faces when they were together, so Otabek figured that they were still fine. He hoped that they'd keep it that way – they were both rays of sunlight. Accepting and open-minded, they had never hesitated to accept Beka exactly the way that he was.

        As they ate and the conversation went on, the Kazakh was bothered because he felt like he was lying, acting all natural when something enormous had happened to him. It was okay, he was just omitting it for the time being. Although… When he got up to take his plate to the sink and Yuuri went right after him, Beka thought it was important to tell him. Katsuki had been hearing about that crush for way too many years. The Kazakh gestured with his finger for the Japanese man to lean closer as he washed his plate, just so no one else would hear it.

       “Yuri and I…” He started. He couldn’t believe that he finally had the right to say it. “We’re dating.”

       That was enough for Yuuri to drop his plate and cause a ruckus.

 

* * *

  

 Monday morning was the same as always. Even though Leo had gone with Otabek to school, the American man still had other friends to tend to, so it didn’t get in the way of Beka’s alone time at the park. It was just him, with his earphones on, sitting on a bench and waiting for the right time to be the first one to get in the auditorium for the first day of the Seniors seminar, but not early enough to have to wait outside. It was a regular day, until he felt a hand on his hair and bent his neck back to see a gorgeous Russian boy hovering over him.

           “What are you listening to?” Yura asked, pointing at his own ear, in case the volume was too loud for Beka to catch what he'd said.

         Otabek took one of his earphones out and stretched his arm to place it in Yuri’s ear as the blonde bent over, supporting himself by holding the back of the bench.

 

⧏  ⌷⌷ ⧐

**Bright Eyes – Cleanse Song**

Don't forget what you've learned  
All you give is returned  
And if life seems absurd  
What you need is some laughter  
And a season to sleep  
And a place to get clean  
Maybe Los Angeles  
Somewhere no one's expecting

 

          “Mornin’.” The Kazakh said, offering the figure that shadowed over him a smile.

         Yuri smirked and took off the sunglasses that were about to fall from his head before leaning further down and kissing Otabek, who held him in place by the nape of his neck. He could feel Yuri’s chin on the tip of his nose. He thought kissing in the awkward position would be harder, but it wasn’t, it was… Fitting.

        “In the mood for a snow cone?” The painter asked, his hair creating a curtain around them.

       Beka huffed, took his own earphone out and handed his cellphone to Yuri so that he could pick up his backpack and get up, offering Yuri his hand when he walked around the bench. The blonde’s sunglasses were on his head again and Otabek could see clearly the black and white tie-dye shirt that was tucked in his shorts. His nails were painted black that day. Beka noticed it when he took a glance of the hand that held onto his as they walked. Yuri listened until the song was finished, then he disconnected their hands only to wrap the chord around the Kazakh’s phone and return it to him. Otabek placed both in his back pocket.

        “So what are you doing today?” He asked.

        “Ugh, I’m trying to find the time to go to this project meeting, but I have classes until, like, 2 P.M and Viktor won’t let me get out of the damn shrink appointment, and I still need to go sign a bunch of shit at Otis, so I’ll probably miss it _again.”_

 “Can’t you go between classes?”

        “I fucking wish, but their schedules are different and, I swear to God, I think my group's trying to make it hard for me. I mean, it can’t take more than thirty minutes to discuss a project.”

        “What about at night?”

        “Two of them work part-time.” He sighed. “I don’t know, since they’re all friends, it’s easy for them to agree that I’m the one who has to fit into their schedule. And to decide that I’ll be the one doing the actual painting.”

        That ticked Otabek off. “What the hell? And what are they supposed to do?”

        “Research, a technical sheet and the presentation.”

        “Yura, come on, that’s not okay.”

        He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, I wanted to do it alone anyway, but the professor wouldn’t let me. It’d be really fucking awesome if they would get off my dick, though.”

        Otabek was probably more annoyed than Yuri was with his project partners. In Music, since him and Leo could cover just about everything, they rarely had to work in a group and, when they did, it was with the American man’s friends and Leo did a good job at playing the bridge. So, from Otabek had gathered, the other Art Students bullied Yuri for being Viktor Nikiforov’s nephew, but also wanted to use him for his talent. Typical L.A. No wonder Yuri was taking on so many classes to finish university early.

       The teen ordered his bubblegum snow cone and Otabek stuck with the lemon. He reminded Yuri that he had said “it”’d “cost” him and paid for them.

       “Here, try it.” The blonde said, offering the blue cone and licking his lips.

       Otabek did as he was told. It was incredibly sweet. He turned to Yuri as they walked together. “Tastes like you.”

       “Let me try yours.” Yuri asked and Otabek quickly offered it to him, but Yuri ignored it and tilted his head to give Beka a kiss. His lips were cold as ice and their kiss was sweet-lemon flavored.

 

 

* * *

 

 

       That night, however, when Otabek sat down to start translating, he realized that the transcript didn’t match the audio at all and they had probably sent him the wrong file, so Beka sent them an e-mail letting them know the issue and decided to start working by ear, although that’d take a little while longer and he’d need to stay up late. He’d talked to Yuri about it, saying that he’d be busier than usual that week because he would be trying adapting text for voiceover, so that’d consist of a lot more creative writing and he’d have to pay attention to the animation itself to match flaps and timing, etcetera. In spite of that, since the Kazakh had always been a fan of anime, he was hoping it would stick and he’d be able to take part in productions like that more often. Nothing wrong with the documentaries and films that he usually worked on, but that was always translating and subtitling, there was little to none creative work involved.

 

 

       **> You:** Don’t overwork yourself.

      He sent the text to Yuri meaning to wish him a good night, but Otabek was still too embarrassed to do it.

      **< Yuri.** : right back at u

 

      Beka thought that meant “good night”, too.

        With three hours of sleep on him, Beka was getting ready for university when he got an e-mail from the production company. It was really fucking unfair how little it took for him to spiral. It wasn’t the script that he had been sent wrong – it was the video file. So, first off, that’d been a whole night of wasted work, which wouldn’t be as bad if the rest of the e-mail wasn't telling him how irresponsible he had been to not have checked the files as soon as he had received them. And that was true. His deadline was always so far away when he received the material that Otabek didn’t bother with it and used the time to finish his school work early. He was confident in his skills, so he didn’t need more than a couple of days, usually, to finish jobs. The justification for the time translators were allowed was that, since it was rare to find someone with advanced proficiency in those languages, most of them needed time to do research and send to proof-readers. Otabek didn’t. But, since he hadn’t checked it early, the company that had hired him would have to request the right file from the Japanese – because they’d also been sent the wrong one and not checked it – and that would push production and mess with the entire chain of employees, so studio times and directors, voice actors that had already been booked would have to be rescheduled. And they weren’t shy putting all the blame on him. Therefore, Otabek, who had felt _fine_ with the way things were going _,_ almost happy and excited for the future, was back to feeling his usual: like utter crap.

        He’d let himself get distracted. Of course, if he didn’t keep control of everything around him, it was going to turn out wrong. Obviously. How had he forgotten that? He should’ve checked it. He shouldn’t have been so arrogant. He had no right to mess it up for everyone else either. All those people were doing their jobs and he'd made things difficult for all of them. He felt so guilty, he didn’t even want to reply. His first instinct was to turn off his phone and give up, pay to break the contract and let them find someone competent. Damn it, he was so fucking angry with himself. He’d been doing that for years, _years_ , and still made a mistake like that. Was he stupid? And he had even spent the whole night working on the _wrong_ file. It’d seemed more likely that they’d send him the wrong transcript, since they were so secretive about the project, they wouldn’t tell Otabek even the title of what he was supposed to work on. What were the odds of a Japanese production company sending the wrong video file?

      Otabek was furious with himself. He missed class. He didn’t care anymore; he was better at home where he couldn’t ruin anything for anyone else. He locked his door and smashed all of his notes from the night before. What if they didn’t want to break the contract and that was why he wasn’t fired? Maybe they wanted to kick him out of it, but, since his mistake had cost them so much money, they were stuck with him. Otabek sighed heavily, running his fingers through his own hair. He opened his e-mail on the laptop and tried not to look at the one he had been sent, preferring to write a new one instead of replying. Just thinking about reading it again and the fact that it was there, in his inbox, made him cringe. So Otabek apologized, said that he wasn’t going to charge them, that he’d be available to work whenever the correct file was received, and that he’d work tirelessly to finish it as soon as possible.

      _Fixes nothing._

      Beka could only imagine the employees bad-mouthing him. _“That’s why you don’t hire a 21-year-old.”_ Was he out of his mind thinking he could make a living for himself and be a functional adult when he was a just an anxious wreck who had to procrastinate in order not to go crazy because of responsibilities that other people seemed to handle just fine? He was just an inconsiderate brat. Yuuri made him food, and Leo would have to cover for him at school that day, and he’d made Yuri cry just a couple of days before. So incredibly selfish. Dad should’ve been there to slap him in the face.

     Just like that, Otabek shut himself off. Again.

     The next day, even though his phone was on silent, he saw it light up when he got texts. Jamie tried to make conversation; Otabek didn’t reply. His housemates were talking among themselves in the group chat. Yura had sent him a picture of something. Otabek didn’t even open it. The blonde would soon realize that Beka wasn’t a good person to be around. It was unhealthy to be near him. He ghosted people at his own will and made them doubt themselves. It didn't matter how disappointed he was with himself. Why was he so broken that he couldn’t get out of bed or take a shower or just have the guts to unlock his phone without thinking that it'd be a trigger for bad news? He didn’t deserve Yuri, he remembered why now. He remembered why he had never been good for other people. He was unfit to simply get by. And he didn’t want to tell anyone. They should go on with their day as normal. It didn’t matter, really, that he kind of thought that, if he had died sooner, he wouldn’t be vegetating again and making people worry. He wasn’t an attention seeker. Or was he?

      By Wednesday, he got a reply. Well, not a reply, just a forwarded e-mail from the Japanese company. They had apologized, sent the correct file and said that they would cover the costs of their mistake. It made Otabek feel a little better, but the company that had hired him had already accepted his offer of forfeiting his pay. Well-deserved for him. He started working like a mad-man as soon as he finished reading and he did not stop until he was finished, even though his eyes were heavier than his conscience by Thursday, when he had to pay attention to the way the characters’ mouths moved and adapt the wording and syllable count to match them.

        By early Friday morning, he was done. Still afraid of looking at his messages. Still sorry for barely going out of his room when his housemates were home. But, if he could remember it correctly, Yura’s classes started at 10 on Fridays. Therefore, he could sleep for few hours and be there when the first one was finished. He didn’t know if Yuri was angry. Jamie hated when the Kazakh disappeared and it always started a fight. He wasn’t wrong, though. If Otabek couldn’t handle people, then he should just be alone. 

 

 

      **> You** : Hey, will you do me a huge favor?

      ** < 勇利:** Of course. What is it?

      **> You:** Would you ask Viktor where Yuri’s class is right now?

      **< 勇利:** Are you surprising him? Aw, Kin-kun’s so cute (/ω＼)

      ** > You:** I’m apologizing* for being an ass (not cute).

      **< 勇利:** I saw Yurio yesterday, don’t worry. He’s been busy too.

      ** > You:** And he still took the time to text me.

      **< 勇利:** Give him more credit, he’s mature enough to be understanding.

      **< 勇利:** Got it. Room 118, north wing.

      **> You:** I kinda wish I didn’t add to the things he has to be understanding of.

      **> You:** But anyway, thank you. And I’m sorry for locking myself up again.

      ** < 勇利:** Tell me what happened at dinner and I’ll forgive you.

      **< You:** You've got it. I’ll bring Olive Garden.

      **<** **勇利** : ＼（Ｔ∇Ｔ）／

 

        Otabek stopped at the restroom to wash his face and get rid of the sweat from the way. He put his hoodie on to wait for Yuri outside. Not right at the door, but leaning on a column across. He was nervous, but it didn’t take long until the door opened and his heart got caught in his throat. Yura came out, wearing a salmon blouse cut out on the shoulders and ripped jeans, his sketchbook against his chest, talking to a girl with pink hair that Otabek didn’t look at long enough to notice anything else. They seemed friendly with each other. It was sudden when Yuri’s eyes casually found him. He looked surprised. Kind of suspicious. A question mark on his expression asking what Otabek was doing there. And a smile. It washed him clean of the mess of horrible thoughts that he had had that week.

       Yuri exchanged a few more words with the girl, then he was walking towards Otabek, who took the cue to walk towards him. Beka didn’t know what kind of expression he had on his own face. He was thankful for being able to see him again. He was like medicine. Otabek was so stupid for not stopping everything for Yuri. When the blonde threw his free arm around his neck and pulled him close, Beka breathed him in like he was oxygen and he had been suffocating, hugging him tightly by the waist, holding in the urge to sweep the teen off his feet. _Ah, so this is what people live for._ The Kazakh kissed his shoulder and Yuri slowly pulled away, placing his hand on Otabek’s cheek, rubbing the Kazakh’s skin with his thumb, looking at him like that’d really been a good surprise.

         “How are you?”

         Those were the first words that escaped softly from Yuri’s lips after days of not seeing each other. Otabek didn’t know what Yuuri had said to him when they had met, even if he had at all, but Yura wasn’t angry. He was worried and he seemed relieved to see Beka there.

         “Better.” The Kazakh said, honestly.

         Yuri’s smile widened. “That’s good.” He murmured, then leaned to kiss him delicately. “Are you busy right now?”

         Beka shook his head. His attendance was already a disaster, so he was only planning on catching up on Monday. Yuri was free to grab him by the hand and lead him anywhere.

        “That girl who was with me, I’m doing that project with her now. I just texted to tell you to not worry anymore, I told the leeches to go to hell.” He gave Beka a side-eye. “Turns out she’s a fan too, so we’ll work on it together this afternoon.”

        “I can’t hole up four days and you have another fan on your tail.”

        “Unlike _you_ , Otabek Altin, I have very specific tastes.” He said, and his eyes turned devilish again. “That’s why you and I are gonna make out until I can’t tell day from night, do you understand me?”

        Beka knew he shouldn’t be turned on, but maybe he did have some submissive tendencies after all.

 

* * *

 

        They were all over each other as soon as Yuri locked the door behind them. He said he had the room for the day to work on the painting, but they had until the girl, Ava, came back from lunch. It felt so good to feel Yura again, it was like finding water in the desert. Even pinning him against the door wasn’t enough to quench the thirst, so Beka picked him up and Yuri didn’t hesitate to wrap his legs around the Kazakh’s waist. He was lighter than one would imagine; Otabek could hold him until sunset and he would still be too distracted by the way Yuri grabbed his hair. Beka only sat him at the table when his neck started to hurt from bending it back for too long.

        “I wanna get that off you.” Yuri said, meaning the hoodie Beka had on.

        “You say some risky things, baby.”

        A smirk appeared on his face. They hadn’t had enough time to catch their breath yet. “What did you just call me?” He teased.

       Beka was more than happy to tease back. “ _Baby._ ” He breathed into the blonde’s lips and moved on to nibble his ear. He felt pleased with the way the blonde hummed, but, just like it was with them, Yura took his advantage back when Otabek felt the teen’s nails on his sides, underneath the hoodie Yuri wanted to take off. _This isn’t meeting halfway, Yura_. It was making Otabek’s senses get hazy. He was gonna have to pull away soon. He just wanted to hear more of the humming sound Yuri made when Beka kissed his neck.

       It was probably for the best that Yuri’s phone rang. That had been too sudden for Otabek to process, but the painter was still holding Otabek in place with his free hand.

      “да?”

     Yuri’s Russian caught Otabek by surprise and got his full attention.

      “ты собираешься спать, дедушка?

      _Are you going to sleep, grandpa?_

 _“_ Ты принимал лекарства?”

      _Have you taken your medication?_

       So that was Nikolai. The grandpa Yuri liked, who had calmed him down and told him stories until he fell asleep in St. Petersburg. Otabek wished to meet him one day and say ‘thank you’. But he was getting ahead of himself.

       “да, я в порядке”

       _Yeah, I’m okay._

        “Я еще в университете”

_I’m still at uni._

        “Конечно, я думаю, вы можете сказать, что я веду себя”

       _Sure, I guess you can say I’m behaving._

The blonde winked at Otabek and he could’ve dropped dead just from that. Instead, he started leaving a trail of kisses from the cut-out on Yuri’s shoulder, to his neck, his jaw.

       _Stop,_ the painter mouthed as he tried to keep in his giggles. _“_ Да, я просто работаю над своей следующей выставкой” _Yeah, I’m just working on my next exhibit._

“не хочу.” _Don’t wanna._ Beka whispered into his ear, then moved on to leave a kiss on his temple, then his eyelid, the bridge of his nose, the tip of it.

      “Потя тоже хорошо, я пришлю тебе несколько симпатичных ее фотографий позже” _Potya is okay, too, I’ll send you some cute pictures of her later._ Then he switched to English and directed it at Otabek. “She can’t freaking stop licking me.”

     The Kazakh laughed quietly, taking Yuri’s hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles, then making his way around the painter’s hand.

     “Да, мы поговорим завтра. Cпокойной ночи дедушка” _Yeah, we’ll talk tomorrow. Good night, grandpa._   “You’re the _devil_.” Yuri stated quite strongly after he hung up the phone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

       Otabek worried about the resistance of the table when he was asked to sit on it next to Yuri, so he grabbed a chair instead and sat in front of him. The blonde was leaning down, playing with Beka’s hair when he asked what had happened that had shaken him so much. In hindsight, Otabek had been terribly melodramatic. While it was happening, however, he felt like he could wither and it wouldn’t matter. Yura had given him no reason to hesitate sharing, but, when he thought about telling the story, he heard himself being weak and unreliable. Still, drawing circles with his fingertip on Yuri’s knee, the Kazakh told him about how he had been weak about being unreliable.

      “It’s like there is something inherently wrong with me that tells me everything else will fall apart when one thing goes wrong.” Beka admitted, partly relieved to be able to talk, partly feeling pathetic.

      “Have you told this to anyone else yet?” Yuri asked. Otabek shook his head, still counting the loose threads on the rip on the teen’s jeans. “Figures, silly, that’s why no one’s told you that it wasn’t your fault. Of course the people hiring you wouldn’t since they got you to work for free, so it’d be up to your friends to get you out of that little head of yours.”

      The Kazakh nodded slightly, feeling Yura’s fingers going through his hair, suddenly not his age at all.

     “If I’d known, like hell would I have let you slave away for those assholes. Where the fuck was Katsudon anyway?”

     “Yuuri respects it when I shut off—“

     “Ugh,” He groaned “That’s one passive bitch, I swear to God.”

      Otabek looked up at the blonde.  “Yuri.” He didn’t like the seriousness in his tone, but he also didn’t like his friend being spoken of that way.

     The teen sighed. “I know, I know, he’s your friend. Sorry.”

     It still didn’t sound – or look – like the blonde hated Katsuki. It was more like he had a grudge against him, like Yuuri had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

     “Can I ask you something?” It wasn’t rhetorical. Yuri gave him the go-ahead with a tilt of the chin as he made the shape of Beka’s eyebrow with his thumb. Otabek placed his hands on top of each other on the teen’s thigh and rested his own chin on them. “What is it that bothers you about Yuuri so much?”

     He made a face. “Is that a trick question?”

     Otabek shrugged. “Just curious.”

    The blonde pondered for a second, leaning back and supporting himself on his palms, looking up at the ceiling, then at the room around him. Otabek shifted his head and laid on his cheek. If he wasn’t looking at Yuri’s eyes anymore, there was no point in pretending like he wasn’t exhausted and in desperate need of sleep. The painter took a deep breath.

      “First, he’s the reason I’m in this shit-hole.”

      Beka remembered him mentioning it before, so he just hummed in response and as a way of telling him to move to the next.

       “Second…” And he lost the equilibrium that he had tried to acquire. “Damn it, it’s because he really is _one. Passive. Bitch_ , Beka. I’m sorry, but I had to come all the way here for Viktor to follow a guy that had come on to him in Japan years and years back and magically reappeared like some sort of fairytale, just for my damn stupid uncle to be toyed with for months. _Months_ , Otabek. Like, I heard them fucking and your friend then treated Viktor like he was nothing but his teacher the day after. It drove me _insane_ to hear the geezer sobbing because Yuuri had done a full one-eighty and then telling me how head-over-heels he was for the guy. It was freaking jarring to take, okay?”

    The way Yuri spit everything out whenever he was given the chance to was just refreshing. Even though it was about his friend that the blonde was talking about, he could understand where the painter was coming from. The Kazakh knew Katsuki and learned things from his perspective, already being familiar with the monsters that the Japanese man had in his head, how his thoughts worked, what his personality was like, what he actually felt for Viktor—He knew Yuuri wasn’t meaning to do any harm at the time. On the other hand, Otabek had his doubts about the professor and had kept his eye open until they met. It was just a caution thing. Then again, even for Peach and Leo it’d been hard to understand what was going on between their housemate and his teacher even though they lived with Yuuri, so it was understandable that Viktor’s nephew would comprehend it even less. It was a protective thing. Beka took one hand from under his cheek and placed it on Yuri’s other thigh reassuringly.

     “Okay.” He nodded, and tried to hold in a yawn.

     He heard Yuri huff. “You seem tired.” The blonde said, adjusting himself to sit straight again and play with Otabek’s eyelashes.

     Beka meant to shake his head, but it was impossible in that position. He did it slightly, though, not fighting the urge to close his eyes.

     “You haven’t slept a lot lately, have you?” He asked, caressing the man’s cheek. “Poor thing.”

    That was the last thing Otabek heard before he was out. When he opened his lids again, it was still the same view of his hand on Yuri’s thigh and the door. The Kazakh blinked a few times as he was coming to and tried to lift his head, but Yuri’s hand was still there.

     _“Shh.”_ The blonde started patting him again. “You just fell asleep, it’s all good.”

     Otabek used his other hand to rub his eye. _“How?”_ The Kazakh asked, mostly to himself—he didn’t fall asleep in public places even when he was a kid.

     Yuri let him slowly sit up again. _Ow, my neck hurts._ “I don’t know, I started talking about pork-cutlet-bowl and next I know you’re snoring.”

    The Kazakh made a face that asked “Was I really snoring?”, then Yuri looked at him like he was three and got off the table. _If my neck was hurting, then his leg…_ “How long?” He managed two ask.

     “Mm, a couple hours?”

     “What?!”

    Yuri laughed. “Twenty minutes tops.”

    “I’m sorry.” He said. And he was. Otabek thought he had had enough of being a nuisance.

    “It’s alright, I told Ava I’d text her when we could start.”

    Otabek didn’t know what to say. He thought the right thing was to leave, but he had been gone to long and, in his heart, he didn’t want to. He was staring at Yuri disconcertedly, just looking for words to—

    The blonde, still standing, leaned down, one hand holding the back of the chair Otabek was sitting on.

     “Are you gonna say ‘sorry’ again?”  He asked, in a tone that told Beka that Yuri had him already all figured out. Otabek didn’t even know if there was need of a reply, specially when Yuri went on to straddle him, slowly and gently rubbing his thumb under Otabek’s eye, where his sleepless nights could be seen. “Katsudon loves you.” He said, and the Kazakh wondered where he was going with it. “The fact that he’s a passive bitch stops him from helping you when you don’t want help, but I’m sure he wants to.” He kissed Otabek’s cheekbone softly. “Leo’s an obnoxious little fuck”, Yuri seemed distracted by how obnoxious he thought Leo was ”But, I mean, he _tries_.” It made them both chuckle and Otabek intertwine his own fingers on Yuri’s back to keep him steady. “The Thai dude seems nice enough, although I’ll change my mind real quick if he tries to get you in an orgy.”

     Their soft laughs turned into smiles and Yuri kissed Beka’s off his lips chastely. “Your childhood crush is on your lap.” He marked, and Otabek tucked the blonde hair that had fallen to one side behind his ear. “And he has a teeny, tiny crush on you, too.”

     Otabek narrowed his eyes. “How tiny are we talking?”

     “Microscopic. ‘Bout the size of Nick’s dick.”

     Beka gasped dramatically, taking one hand to his heart. “You wound me.” He said, quickly getting his hand to Yuri’s thigh and using that and the one on the blonde’s back to pull him closer. Yura instantly locked their lips, kissing him longer that time, not forcing their tongues to hide. Otabek could feel the scratch of Yuri’s nails on his undercut, the friction of his own fingertips and the fabric of Yuri’s shirt and jeans. Oh, he wished to leave a trail of kisses down the teen’s neck just to hear him hum again, but he’d also sworn he’d control those urges. Yuri’s lips were so sweet, it didn’t matter. Yuri’s hands touched him so urgently, it didn’t matter. When they let go of each other, just enough to catch their breath and watch each other pant, it was enough of a rush.

    However, that time, Yuri leaned to kiss him gently once again. And everything changed. It was like their bodies had been silenced and they were two wandering souls.

    “You’re not alone, Beka.” Yuri told him, brushing the stray hairs away from Otabek’s eyes. He kissed him again, just for a second. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

    Wasn’t he just hypnotizing? Dazzling, saying such pleasing words. If the Kazakh closed his eyes, for only a minute, couldn’t those words turn into a song and take him somewhere else? Could his siren keep holding him, just like that, shoulder to shoulder, so they could carry the weight together? That Ava girl, it’d be nice if she didn’t knock on that door anytime soon. Beka didn’t want to leave.

      He placed his hand on Yuri’s neck and kissed the blonde’s cheek. “Can you scratch the ‘childhood’ off next time?” He asked, their noses tickling each other. “I think my crush on you is still holding up pretty strong.”

      “Yeah, I guess the hickeys on my neck leave no room for argument.”

      “I did not—“

      “I’m pretty sure you did.”

      “I can’t have—“

      “Beka, I get a damn rash from the _adhesive_ on a band-aid.” Yuri told him, kind of giggling and getting off. He went to pick up his phone from the desk and took quick glances of Otabek. “Sorry I didn’t tell you, but I kind of wanted them—they’re pretty much my aesthetic, don’t ya think?”

     The Kazakh had to get up to check and he moved the blonde’s hair out of the way as he texted Ava to come. _Okay, we can’t call these “hickeys” per se…_ The pink spots on his neck were the shade of the blush on Yuri’s cheeks. They didn’t look like clogged blood that had been formed by someone’s violent sucking. There was no denying that they were there – and that they looked lovely and made Otabek want to get his tongue on them -, but they could, indeed, be confused with some kind of allergy to a bug bite. Or three of them. They would disappear soon anyway, the Kazakh hoped.

     Otabek picked up his backpack and threw it over his shoulder, embarrassed to ask when they would see each other next as Yuri prepped the table for when his partner arrived, laying down reference pictures and what appeared to be research papers, color pallets, different brushes…

      “Hold on.” The teen asked and Otabek made sure to stand there, just plugging his earphones and picking which playlist to listen to on the way. Yuri walked over to him when he was finished, a bunch of tickets in his hand. “For you and your buddies. Free cocktails.”

      _The opening of his Otis Timeline exhibit._

Beka took them. “I could care less about cocktails.” He kissed the blonde’s forehead. “I don’t know what they’ll be doing next weekend, but I’ll be there.”

      “Good, so take me out drinking after? As much as I care about the cocktails, I’m still,” He rolled his eyes “underage in this shit-hole.”

      He laughed. “Sure, wherever you want.”

      They had no time to specify plans before the pink-haired woman arrived, but Yuri said he’d come if Viktor went over to the house on the weekend, which he most likely would. So they’d see each other sometime during the next two days. Otabek would make sure to clear his Tokyo Ghoul debt then. The Kazakh planted a quick kiss on Yuri’s hand before he made his way out while the blonde had fun with how he felt shy to kiss in front of the girl who he had done everything to avoid eye contact with. At the door, when Otabek turned around, Yuri was still looking at him and the woman was laying out her stuff on the table.

      _“I love you.”_ The Kazakh mouthed.

      Yuri’s showed a wide smile and pointed at his ear. “What? I couldn’t hear you!” He teased.

      Otabek rolled his eyes. “ _Bye!_ ” He exclaimed playfully, getting suddenly nervous again when the girl replied. What the Kazakh was able to offer her could only be described as a fifteen-degree bow. Awkward.

      “Who is he? He’s cute.” He heard the girl ask as he was closing the door.

      “Also a fan.” Yuri replied. _True. “_ Nah, I’m just fucking with you. He’s my boyfriend.”

      _Better._ But he’d still have to tell Yuri that it didn’t cancel his fanboy status.

      Otabek would do it over the weekend. Or sometime next week. Or next weekend. Sometime between then and always.

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have to buy some tissues for all the nose bleeds I'll get writing the next chapters. (〃´∀｀)


	19. Coffee, kofe, Kōhī, keopi, café.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! This might the longest note I’ve ever left you guys here, but it’s just ‘cause I hate to not update for so long. Do you remember my laptop? Broken again. It’s the keyboard this time, but I can’t get it fixed now because I can still use it for digital art and I’ve been working like crazyyyy. So this entire chapter was written on my phone. I’m sorry. Also, I want to say thank you to the late commenters! When I’m sad I can’t take the time to write, seeing new comments really helps my mood. I know some people might be pressured by them, but I’m every bit as interested in this story as you are. It makes me happy to know you check for updates, thank you so much! Last thing I’ll say is that I decided to leave the final number of chapters unknown just so I don’t rush. We’ve been building this up for so long, I don’t wanna ruin it by trying to squeeze too much to get to the end faster. When we’re only one chapter away from the end, though, I’ll let you know! Again, thank you for everything, sorry I had to write on my phone - and for taking so long - and just know I love your comments, I read all of them and they make me the happiest. Oh, if you’ve read until here, just letting you know this one is sorta - just sorta - nsfw. Ok, bye! Ily!

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       On Sunday, the doorbell rang and, feeling embarrassingly giddy on the inside, Otabek left his bedroom and found Leo opening the door. The American man was shirtless, lazily hanging out in the living room with Peach and Yuuri, when he let Viktor in, instantly taking notice of his half-nakedness and asking if he should take his blue V-neck off too, if it was too hot inside. Yuri made his presence noticed by voicing his disgust with a scoff that echoed in, making Viktor laugh and make his way to the Japanese man who sat expectantly on the arm of the couch, bending his neck back to be kissed as soon as their fingers were intertwined.

     “Why do I have to see _you_ naked? Where’s Beka?” The blonde asked, walking in, with his loose white T-shirt with the face of James Dean, one side tucked in jean-shorts, two braids tied behind his head like a crown.

      “I’m not _naked—“_

“Right here.” Otabek stated, raising his hand slightly, smirking at the teen who had just eyed him.

      It was a marvel how his demeanor changed. Instead of making his annoyance clear to his uncle and Leo, Yuri made grabby hands at Otabek, asking him to go to where he was, only inside enough to allow the American man to close the door, right next to Viktor and Yuuri, who were still hugging, making it seem like a day had been too much time apart.

      “You should really grab a shirt, I’ll turn the AC on.” Phichit told Leo as he browsed Netflix on the TV.

      “I’m waiting for _your girlfriend_ to come out of the shower.” The American man spat.

      “Is your closet in the bathroom?” Peach snarled back.

      “I’m all dirty, man, I ain’t gonna waste a shirt. It’s not like you guys are always covered up.”

      “We have visitors, dude, come on.” The Thai man asserted more strongly.

      Behind Otabek, Leo grunted and walked away visibly irritated.

      “He knows I don’t mind, right?” Yuri whispered to Otabek, standing next to him, paying attention to the options of shows to watch on TV.

      “He minds.” Beka said and Yuri turned to him with furrowed brows. “I’ll tell you later.”

     The blonde squinted his eyes, but turned his head to the couple that had moved to sit next to Phichit on the couch. As Yuuri helped his friend pick something on Netflix, Viktor had his nose buried in the Japanese man’s hair, nibbling his ear. Katsuki’s whole neck was red and he giggled as he tried to ignore his boyfriend’s common clinginess. Leo hadn’t locked the door, so Otabek only took a step back and one to the side so that he could do it himself only by stretching out one arm. Since he was behind Yuri, now, he could see the black piece of elastic that tied the two braids and how the unbraided rest rested on the painter’s hidden shoulder blades. Beka wanted to touch it. He knew he couldn’t, though. Still, it looked beautiful, and golden, he imagined what it’d be like to run his fingers through it. He imagined it like playing the harp.

    “Would you look at them?” The blonde voiced, with fake bitterness, crossing his arms on his chest, his back still turned to Otabek. “My boyfriend didn’t even kiss goodbye the last time I saw him.”

     Yuri couldn’t see him, so Otabek didn’t hold back his smile. He was so adorable. The Kazakh stepped forward, his lips near Yuri’s ear.

     “Your boyfriend wants to kiss you ‘hello’ so much, he might not even mind your uncle is right there.”

     Then Yuri turned, throwing his arms around the Kazakh’s neck.

     “Sometimes, my boyfriend forgets he has a room all to himself.”

     With an eyebrow raise, Beka hugged the painter’s waist and it didn’t take more than Yura biting his bottom lip for the Kazakh to kiss him right where they stood and earn a “Hell yeah” from his boyfriend. He tasted minty, like toothpaste, and his smell, _oh, God,_ it was like opium - it sent Beka somewhere else. As expected, though, the whistles from the men on the couch wasted no time bringing him back. Yura turned in the circle of Otabek’s arms to face them, and the Kazakh rested his forehead on the blonde’s shoulder. Had he made a scene? He had, hadn’t he?

      “You sixth-graders are making him shy.” Yuri complained.

     The Kazakh whined behind the painter. That had somehow made him even more embarrassed. He heard - and felt - Yura giggle and take a hand to his hair, scratching the Kazakh’s scalp. Otabek felt comfortable enough to turn his head slightly and nuzzle his nose on Yuri’s neck.

     “What’s going on here—“ Otabek shifted to look at the woman coming from the hallway. “Oh. My. God. Both at once?! I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you guys!”

     Layla was always cheerful; with a wide smile on, she skipped with open arms to give Viktor - who had already gotten up to greet her - a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Both of their energies were notably contagious, so it struck the night like a shooting star when they exchanged compliments with each other. Her hair was wet and revealing her natural curls, which Viktor said he found lovely, that he’d always been jealous of his friend Chris’ angelic curly hair. Phichit’s girlfriend kept referring to him as “professor” as a way of teasing Yuuri, who didn’t mind in the slightest and seemed to be overjoyed that his boyfriend was so receptive to his friend group.

     “Have you caught her yet?” Yuri whispered in the Kazakh’s ear.

     “Still going on about this?”

     “Still not taking me to your bedroom?”

     Otabek gave up and took Yuri’s hand in his, but, surprisingly, the blonde didn’t move.

     “It’s too bad, though, I don’t like it ‘cause it gets all frizzy on top, I don’t think it suits me.” Layla lamented, pulling strands of her hair.

     “Can you believe her?” Phichit got up and hugged her waist, talking to Viktor. “As if there’s anything that doesn’t suit a girl so beautiful.”

     “My, my, what a charmer.” The Russian man commented lightly. “But I agree. And if you don’t like the volume, there are ways around it— not that I’d know, my hair has always been catastrophically thin.”

     “Braiding, for one.” Yuri said, catching everyone by surprise. He let go of Otabek’s hand and went to analyze the woman’s curls. “Maybe Nordic braids to avoid the cultural appropriation.”

     “What are those?” She replied cheerfully, impressed that Yuri was giving her the time of day. She had listened to Katsuki’s stories.

     “Have you watched Vikings?”

     “I’ve been _begging_ her.” Phichit noted.

     “We always end up doing something else, P.” She explained.

    Yuri chuckled. “Sounds like Beka and I with anime.”

     “Who’s in for a Vikings watch party?” Peach asked.

     “Sure, I wouldn’t mind watching it again.” Viktor replied and sat back down.

     “I’ll make popcorn!” Yuuri exclaimed and ran excitedly to the kitchen.

     “I can braid your hair while we watch it.” Yuri offered.

     Layla’s eyes brightened like she was star struck. “Really?!”

     The painter shrugged. Otabek was puzzled. He hadn’t had the time to catch up on what was going on. Up until then, Yuri seemed jealous of Layla and he wasn’t shy about it, so Beka couldn’t have misread it— Although, maybe Yura felt something similar as what he felt towards his uncle’s boyfriend. Katsuki wasn’t exactly the problem, he was just a factor that revealed the painter’s fear of being abandoned. Maybe it wasn’t jealousy, just a type of bitterness, thinking that it would be ideal if there weren’t a possible factor lurking around. However, since he’d seen her, and seen Peach with her, maybe he had discovered what the factor was and that it was canceled out in some part of the equation; it’d cause no harm. It was also interesting to think that maybe Yuri braided his own hair when it was long. Maybe he saw Layla’s as something to work with, something that he could use to reminisce. Seeing him, sitting on the floor, with the girl fit in the space between his legs, explaining what he was doing to her as he did it, it made Beka feel relieved. Yura had one less thing with which to be concerned.

     Beka turned around to help Yuuri with cups and Coke.

 

* * *

 

 

     They paid attention to the series for a couple of episodes, however, three couples in the dark, all cozied up, it was easy to shift focus. Eventually, the habitants of the house took their significant others to their respective bedrooms. Yuri and Otabek were still going to watch a few Tokyo Ghoul episodes, although they had class in the morning. Viktor usually left quite late, so they didn’t figure it’d be a problem.

        “Cold?” Otabek asked as Yuri buried both hands under his thighs when he sat on the corner of the bed.

         “Kinda.” The blonde admitted. Beka was going to move his laptop from the desk to the bed, but he decided to up the temperature a bit. “No need for that, just give me a blanket.”

         It was clear that Yura was just doing it because he knew Otabek didn’t like to feel hot. He wasn’t going to point it out, though, he could foresee his boyfriend making something up, like “it’s more fun because it’s cold in the movie theater” or some excuse of that sort. There were clean blankets in the closet, so Beka opened it and reached for them.

         “How attached are you to those hoodies?” The teen asked, probably seeing them hanging.

       Otabek turned his head back to look at him and smirked. _For you? Anything._ “Not at all.”

       Then, Yuri stretched out his arm and the Kazakh gladly gave him the one of the black ones that he hadn’t worn since had been washed. No way would he put on the blonde one that he had sweat all over. Though he was quite reliant on those pieces of clothing, they were easy to find and he had quite a few to spare. Also, he couldn’t wait to see Yuri in one. As the blonde put it on, he began talking.

        “So what was that about Leo and the Thai dude again?”

        Yuri said the name “Phichit” sounded weird in his head and he wasn’t close enough to the man to call him a nickname, therefore he’d continue to refer to Peach as “the Thai dude” for the time being.

         “If you think Leo’s obnoxious now, you should’ve seen him a year ago.” Otabek said, changing the outlet of the charger to the one next to the bed. “He had no idea what being poliamory was, but didn’t waste time jumping to conclusions. He’d, like, tell Peach he’d make a move on Layla just ‘cause they weren’t exclusive, and he really did kiss her at a party, in front of Peach and everything—“

        “Did she…?”

        “Oh, no. Totally forced. We kicked him out of the house for a while, but Yuuri talked Phichit into letting him back in, you know, ‘cause Leo was raised catholic or whatever, he wasn’t” Beka made air quotes “‘ _exposed’_ to anything different.”

        “I don’t buy that shit.”

        “Me neither.” Otabek said, placing the laptop on the bed and walking to the front of Yuri, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed. “I was pretty harsh with him. We still bump heads sometimes. But, it’s like you said, he’s trying.” The blonde was listening quietly, playing with Otabek’s knuckles. “He’s got a person he loves now.”

         Yuri looked up, suddenly interested. “Who broke seven mirrors on the crack of a sidewalk as a black cat walked by to bring _that_ much bad luck upon themselves?”

         Otabek laughed, zipping up the hoodie Yuri had put on. “A sound engineer from China. Who’s got a boyfriend, by the way.”

         “Is it the guy from Vegas?”

         The Kazakh furrowed his brows. “You know about that?”

         “Everyone who knows anyone from AIC knows about it.”

         Beka suddenly felt uneasy and fidgeted on his feet, he didn’t know where to look at. “When his parents find out…” He couldn’t help but empathize and it brought back memories Otabek would rather keep at bay.

         Yuri could certainly sense Otabek’s shift of emotion because he held the Kazakh’s hand and rubbed the side of his head on the back of it, like a kitten, with gorgeous fur that felt like silk. Due to that, Beka was able to snap out of it and just stare at the wild cat that sat tamely on his bed, wearing his clothes, looking like he was comfortable and at ease being there, even with his braids loosening up and Otabek feeling sorry that he couldn’t fix them, because he didn’t know how to, and because his hands weren’t allowed there. Only if they were guided by Yura himself. The Kazakh did curl his fingers in the painter’s hair ever-so-slightly, just to let Yuri know that he realized what he was doing. He was thankful, and responding. Oh, but the heavens had to stay quiet and tell Yura that Otabek was avidly holding back. His free hand ached because it wished to feel it too, what it was like to touch strings of gold.

      “Would you hate it if I said you were pretty?”

       Yuri grinned, resting on the palm of Otabek’s hand, drawing circles with his thumb on the back of it “You think I’m pretty?”

       The Kazakh nodded slightly. “The prettiest. By a long shot.”

       “Mmm.” He hummed. “I do like winning.”

      Yuri got up and leveled with Otabek, he pulled the elastic from his hair and undid the braids, leaving two wavy strands draping his face. He shook his head because of habit, then placed his hands in the front pockets of the hoodie.

        “It’s okay if it’s you.” He said. “Calling me ‘pretty’, I mean” He took a step ahead and they were standing cheek to cheek. “I hated it because it came before ‘just like your mother’, but you don’t know her, do you, Beka?”

       “I don’t.” The Kazakh said, even though his first instinct was to just shake his head. “Only know you.” _Always._

Otabek felt Yuri’s hand running up his chest with a considerable amount of pressure that made his muscles clench, attaching itself to his neck with the same intensity. He could feel the tip of Yuri’s nose on his cheek, making it tingle and burn.

       “I hate losing, though.” Yuri murmured.

       “What?”

       “Not exactly the question.” He replied, kissing Otabek’s jaw.

        “To whom?”

        “Bingo.” He whispered, soft and seductively, moving the hand that was on Otabek’s neck to his cheek, turning the Kazakh’s head to him. “To me.” He replied, kissing Beka’s lips. “Why can’t I let a man like you make a mess of me?”

        “A man like me?”

        “A man who loves me.”

        Otabek showed him a smile and stepped back, only to support his weight on the desk and hug Yuri’s waist.

        “A man like me, who loves you, can’t support those bad habits either.”

        “I know.” Yuri said, cupping Beka’s cheeks. “We’d make love, wouldn’t we?” He giggled, finding the expression ridiculous. “There’d be music and new sheets, and we’d be saying some really fucking lame things to each other.”

        “You really have us all figured out.”

        “Of course, I’ve imagined it, like, five hundred times.”

        “Oh, have you?” Otabek teased. “Tell me more.”

        “No way, I don’t wanna spoil it.”

        “I’ll be the only one who’s clueless, won’t I?” He pretended to lament.

        “Not true. I only know the mess; I’ve never” And he made sure to ridicule the expression “‘ _made love’_ before.”

      Otabek tried, everyday, not to think about the hands that may have touched Yuri before. That had maybe done to him what his father did. The people he didn’t know nor wanted to know who he let do  painful things to him, when he didn’t want to himself, when things got worse than normal. Beka tried, because it made him sick to his stomach. The pictures crashed into him like a wave of regret and helplessness, an almost desperate need to do the impossible and turn back time. Above everything, Otabek swore he would never become one of them, the ignorant men who mindlessly damaged someone he held sacred.

       The Kazakh sighed. “If you mean not hurting the other person, then maybe.” He said, letting his hands wander Yuri’s sides. “But if you mean doing it with someone you love, then me neither.”

        “See?” He smiled, allowing their foreheads to touch. “Lame.”

        “Sorry.” Otabek said, giving the blonde chaste kisses and pressing their bodies together. “I do love you, though.”

       Yuri gazed at him with unwavering eyes, digging into Beka’s hair with his fingers and weighing him further back, clashing their lips together with one long breath that Otabek hadn’t had the time to catch, which made him moan into Yuri’s mouth. Probably the most earnest reaction he had ever had to that Russian painter wanting him so badly. It turned him on to no end.

      “I changed my mind.” Yuri said, still panting, his thumb tracing Otabek’s bottom lip. “Wait for me.”

    Otabek huffed, taking Yuri’s hand and kissing his palm. “I’m right here.” He said, placing it back on his cheek. “Whenever you’re ready, even if it’s years from now or never, I’ll still be here. So don’t rush, okay?”

      “I’ll work on it.”

      “It’s fine, Yura.” Beka said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We have more pressing matters at hand right now.”

      “Such as…?”

      Beka gestured to the laptop on the bed. “Anime.”

 

* * *

 

 

       If anyone had asked Otabek if there was a chance of him and Yuri Plisetsky dating, watching Tokyo Ghoul late at night, sleeping over because they wanted to binge the first season, even though they had to go university the next day… He would have replied: not in a million years. To his bewilderment, he had seen the “kid” side of Yuri, how excited he got when Unravel started playing, calling Rise a bunch of different names (when she first appeared, a bitch. On her date with Kaneki, a whore. When she appeared to haunt the main character’s thoughts: a cock-sucking wench who deserved to be dismembered by dogs, then thrown down a pit and into a fire). He was very creative when it came to insults, and cursing fictional characters. It made the whole thing more interesting, even though Beka had seen it, at least, three times. The way he clung to the sheets that covered his legs made it all the more heart-warming. Otabek wished he’d stay, but he wouldn’t ask him to; he remembered what had happened the last time they slept next to each other. Yuri did so himself, however, when they got to the sixth episode and Viktor asked if he wanted to go home. He said “no” without taking his eyes off he screen, then he grabbed Otabek’s hand, still staring at it.

      “Can I sleep over?” He asked.

      If Viktor weren’t here, the Kazakh’s mouth would’ve gaped. He wasn’t expecting it. He looked at Viktor at the door, to see what he thought. He didn’t seem fazed.

      “I don’t mind, more time with my Yuuri.” The blue-eyed man replied excitedly. “If we leave early tomorrow, we can still go home and get ready before my work and your lecture.”

     Yuri nodded and his uncle left. Although the blonde seemed to give his full attention to what he was watching, Otabek worried. Should he sleep on the couch? Should he ask Yuri first? Would he be offended? Would it add to his insecurities about his trauma? If they were to sleep on the same bed, what should Otabek do to make it better when his boyfriend woke up? If he had his back to him, maybe? Maybe he should just wake up first and not be there when Yuri— that wasn’t guaranteed. He felt himself getting stiff and doubtful, as if his most minimal move could be threatening to Yuri, although he knew it made no sense.

       Inside, Beka was getting all worked up about it. It was almost three in the morning when they finished watching the first season - the laptop had already been moved to Yuri’s side and Otabek was the big spoon, watching with only one of his eyes, cuddled up on the blonde’s neck, but keeping his hands to himself and the sheets making a clear division between them.

       “So,” Yura started, closing the laptop and passing it over to Otabek “Kaneki and Hide, top or bottom?”

      Yuri said some absurdly random things at times. So random that Otabek’s brain had to stop stressing to try and process. He placed the laptop on the floor.

      “We know Kaneki tops Touka.”

      “Do we, though?”

      “They have a kid now.”

      “They also grow tentacles, so logic’s out the window.”

      Otabek pondered. “Still, I’d say Kaneki’s a top.”

      “Because of his radiating BDE?” Yuri ironized.

      Otabek chuckled and shrugged. “‘Cause of the timeline. Supposedly, Hide would’ve come first and then Touka. I never met anyone who was first a bottom then a top, just the other way around. And I don’t think Touka can grow self-fertilizing Kagune.”

       “Yeah, they have the whole sex scene in the manga.” Yuri admitted. “Boring as fuck, though. You’d think Ghoul fucking would be more creative.”

      “Sounds dangerous any other way.”

      “Whatever.” He said, pulling the covers to his shoulders and turning to Otabek. “You’ve had sex with girls, right?”

      “Um… Yeah?”

      “So, if that Jamie guy was your first, then you went on to girls, by your logic, you’re a full-on top, right?”

      “Well…” He couldn’t deny it. He wasn’t even ready to consider otherwise. “Yeah.”

      Yuri nodded and seemed to lose himself in thought. Was it already time to have that conversation? If Yuri wanted the role, then Beka would have a lot of reflecting to do. He didn’t know if he’d be able to bottom. It made him tense up to even think about it. He knew it had to be harder on Yuri, who’d have to get over such a traumatic event in order for him to keep his role, and that was off the table. When Yuri said he let other men hurt him, then he imagined he’d have to have been passive for them, but that didn’t mean he liked it. On the contrary. He hated it, didn’t he?

       “Yura, when you… imagine, you know, us… who’s doing…” Why had he started this damn question? “You know… what.”

       The blonde seemed taken aback by it and Otabek’s hands started to sweat. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t time. But he was starting to spiral and the words had just come out—

       “You think I might wanna top?!” Yuri asked, then he burst into laughter, laying on his back. “You’re really open-minded!”

      Otabek had passed the point of being confused. “What?”

     “Don’t I scream bottom?” He asked, his voice still trembling from laughing. “You too, Beka, you’re so much of a top I can smell your alpha scent from a mile away!”

     “Yuri, what the hell are you talking about?”

     “I’m saying!” He started, turning to Otabek again, his fingers lurking out of the sheets to touch the Kazakh’s jaw. He lowered his voice. “When I imagine us, you’re inside of me.” Otabek’s eyes widened. “I know I shouldn’t say this shit if I won’t follow through with it, but you asked.”

      Beka breathed a sigh of relief, then was washed by his own embarrassment of that whole conversation. He turned on his stomach and buried his face on the pillow, shaking his head slightly because he always did it, he was always jumping to conclusions and worrying and being won over by Yuri again and again.

       “Thanks for telling me.” He mumbled.

       Yuri chuckled. “No problem, babe.”

       The Kazakh’s face sunk even further from hearing that in Yuri’s voice. “Ugh,” He complained “You’ll kill me, I swear.”

      The blonde laughed and started teasing. “Sleep, Beka. Or do you want me to whisper in your ear all that I’ve imagined us doing—“

     Otabek placed both sides of the pillows to cover his ears. “ _I’ll sleep!”_ He stated, however muffled.

     Yuri laughed at him. It was still a beautiful sound, even though Otabek’s insides had started a mob to get closer to him. He wouldn’t. He would sleep. Somehow.

 

* * *

 

 

      Otabek gave up on sleeping around five in the morning. After a couple of hours of being too scared of turning to Yuri, afraid that he’d wake up, afraid that he’d have the same reaction from last time, afraid he’d cry and remember. The Kazakh ended up going for leaving before the painter opened his eyes. When Beka got up, however, and took a glance of his boyfriend, the blonde slept facing the wall. Was that his way of preventing them from going through that experience again? _Am I overthinking this?_ The Kazakh left, careful not to make any noise as he closed the door, deciding he’d be the first to shower and make coffee. He had to attend his lectures, but he was going to have to do it without a wink of sleep.

      As much as he didn’t want to, Otabek couldn’t stop analyzing every goddamned thing. He was going around in a never-ending circle about Yuri’s want to have sex and what he was supposed to do about it. Of course, it was the blonde’s decision, there was no question about it, but just how much was he accountable for? What if Yuri was doing it out of self-doubt? Was Otabek failing to make him feel secure? On the other hand, Yura had always been self-assured and confident, if he were to cross out the exceptions. Yuri obviously had his moments of insecurity, but they didn’t seem to be enough to cloud his rationality, especially when it came to something as important as working through trauma. If Beka just drew a line and said that they weren’t going to do anything, basically made him the one to get it off the table, would it lift the burden off of Yuri?

     Then again, he still didn’t know what was so major about it, although he realized that it was a social consensus that humans fucked and that was the norm. Yura was too avant-garde to be pressured by society. When Otabek crossed out that option, it left him with one that seemed so disgustingly arrogant, he wanted to punch himself in the face. Yuri spoke about jealousy before. He spoke about losing to himself. If he really, consciously, wanted to know what it was like to have normal, consensual, safe sex with Otabek, then it was his right. Beka wasn’t complaining. At all. He obviously wanted Yuri, it was clear by how strongly he had to hold back even his own thoughts to not even open that door, the one that Yuri kept knocking on. As the entitled bastard that he was, the Kazakh thought that it was his duty to have his guard up, to be able to reason with Yuri if his emotions got to him. It wasn’t because Otabek wanted it that it was right and, because it wasn’t right, Beka wasn’t fine with it. The Kazakh took it seriously when Yuri shared his concerns. _“What if I hate you?”_ Otabek wasn’t sure if he’d be able to live with himself if that came to be.

         In that circle, Beka always ended up on the same spot, the one that had one less ghost-guard ever since the question of his role had gone obsolete. It was in a little place called “Control”, the one that kept him seemingly sane as his thoughts buzzed in his head like millions of bees. It was where he kept them in cages, used them for honey, kept them in sight, as him, in a suit. The center of everything that he was; that he had managed to save along the way. Without it, he was just a mumbling mess with daddy issues. If he were running in circles, Control was the place he stopped at for air and for water, in a marathon he hadn’t chosen to be part of, but had no choice other than to keep on moving, waiting desperately to reach it again, the place where he could stop for air, and water.

       The smell of coffee dominated the kitchen. It was five-thirty, Yuuri would soon get up. He was usually the first to do all the things Otabek was doing. He considered making toast for everyone, but, since Viktor was there, Katsuki would probably make something more elaborate for breakfast. At least, Otabek hoped they didn’t hate his coffee. His was definitely strong, as he liked it, but he had another kettle on the stove for everyone else. To keep his eyes on it, Beka leaned on the fridge and took a sip from his mug, but it didn’t take long for his mind to wander again and end up on that same spot: control.

       It was looking for a solution that time. If control helped him with his problems, then perhaps that was what Yuri needed. Since he’d been - and the thought added bitterness to his tongue - violated in so many ways and had made a habit out of it, maybe what he needed was to be in control. To know only what he wanted would fall upon him. To have a voice and be in charge, at least until he felt reassured that it was safe for him to let go for a while and trust his boyfriend wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him. If Otabek could do something to help him, he should give up control. He’d spent his entire life fighting to only have control of himself and not _be_ controlling. It would be too much for him to be passive, but, Yuri had used a dominant tone with him before, Otabek hadn’t felt less than. _It_ _was_ _kinda_ _hot_ , _really_. If they went too far, then perhaps it’d take a toll on him — Beka didn’t think he could ever do anything close to master/servant play because he felt embarrassed and borderline humiliated by the smallest, most mundane things, being in that kind of position would wreck his brain even more. But more subtle things, like taking directions from Yuri, keeping his own wants to himself, not trying “moves” on him, just letting him lead, giving him control.

     In Portuguese, “poder” as a verb meant “to be able”. As a noun, “ _power”_. It was worth the shot to see if both were, in fact, the same thing.

     The coffee was almost overflowing when Otabek remembered that it was there, at the same time he heard Katsuki’s alarm go off in his bedroom. Viktor came to kitchen while his boyfriend showered, he asked why there were two options of coffee.

     “Well, _this_ is coffee. Brazilian coffee.” He said. “This is closer to coffee-flavored tea, but it’s what the guys like.”

     Viktor grinned. “Yuuri does like his coffee weak. And sweet.”  He chose the one Otabek was drinking. “Is the coffee itself Brazilian or just the way you make it?”

     “Both.” Otabek replied. “There’s a Brazilian Market near Santa Monica that I order from online and they deliver everything here once a month. It’s really convenient. Even the cloth filter that’s super expensive everywhere else.”

     “Have you ever been to Brazil?” The blue-eyed man asked, after briefly complimenting Otabek’s coffee.

     “Just once. Samal—“ He stopped himself. Viktor probably didn’t remember. “My father’s business partner had a vacation home on Honey Island, in the North. I can barely remember it now ‘cause I was really young and we didn’t stay long, but I recall that we were surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean, it was a very pretty sight.”

     Viktor seemed overjoyed, imagining it. “Oh, we should all go sometime, the four of us.” The idea got Otabek dizzy. _The four of us._ “And we gotta take you to meet Nikolai, too. Wow, so many trips ahead of us, if only we had the time right now— I’m sorry, did I overwhelm you?”

     Beka shook his head eagerly. If anything, he was happy to be included. “I would love to.”

     Yuuri got there with his glasses on and wet hair he tried to brush back not to get droplets on the lenses. Still sitting at the counter, Viktor threw an arm around his boyfriend’s waist.

     “Love, how about a trip, you and I and Yuri and Otabek, to Brazil?”

     “I’d sure like to visit, especially with Kin being fluent in Portuguese and all.”

     “You speak Portuguese?!”

    Oh, crap. Why had the attention turned to him?

     “He speaks a bunch of different languages. It’d take us a while visiting every place.”

     “Russian?” Viktor asked. Beka nodded. “No wonder! I thought your father didn’t want you to hear—“

     _All the gross remarks he was making about you and Yuri? Oh, no, he wouldn’t have been that kind._ Katsuki must have warned him to stop, somehow, because Viktor took another sip of his coffee and Yuuri went to make “Eggs Benedict for Yurio”

    “You should wrap it to go, my love, Yurochka won’t get up until the last minute.”

    “I’ll do so right away, before everyone else comes. We have a full-house today!”

    All three of them had breakfast before Yuri came out, his hair in a half-pony tail, Otabek’s hoodie tied around his waist, wearing the same clothes from the night before just like his uncle, who had only left pajamas in Katsuki’s closet and still had to go home and change for work. It was past six in the morning and Otabek was on his second coffee mug because it had just sunken in that he hadn’t slept at all.

      “We gotta go, solnishko. I have to be at work at seven.”

      “I know, I know.” Yuri mumbled, still sleep and grumpy, as he went to get a glass of water.

      “You guys,” Layla whispered behind them, the only warning being the noise of Phichit’s door opening. She got closer and, with her index finger in front of her mouth, she asked them to be quiet and kept whispering. “Since we were working on P’s birthday, all of us from the studio, we’re bringing a cake to the Neon Party there’ll be at Lure on Saturday, and I know you Yuuri and Otabek already celebrated with him here, but I think he’d be really happy if you guys went.” She said, inviting Viktor and Yuri. Then she turned her gaze to Otabek. “I understand if you can’t go, Beks, I know it’s crowded, but I’m inviting you because I’d really love it if you were there. It’d really be special for his 25th birthday.”

     Otabek nodded, reluctantly. “It’s the day of Yura’s opening, but I’ll go after.”

     “I’ll be there, too.” Yuri said.

     “Woo-hoo, we’re all going clubbing!” Viktor celebrated.

     “Thank you guys! It starts at eight!” She said, with a smile, already returning to the bedroom where her boyfriend still slept unknowingly.

     “Hey, Yurochka, we were just talking about something else for us to do together.”

     “If you say ‘double-date’, I swear to God—“

     “No, traveling!”

     “So a double-date that lasts days?” Yuri ironized. He was cute with his bed hair and irritable from being sleepy. “Is there a quiet place for me to kill myself?”

     “Come on, don’t be like that!” Viktor whined. But he turned to Yuuri. “Although Otabek did say it was surrounded by the ocean…”

     “You did?” He asked, pointing at Otabek with the same hand that held his empty glass. “Where?”

     “An island in Brazil I went to a few years ago.”

    Yuri smirked, placing the glass on the counter, staring at Otabek. “Will you be speaking Portuguese?” He asked, running his fingers through Otabek’s hair as he drank his coffee. “Mm? I’ll go if you say ‘yeah’.”

     Otabek looked up at him from his mug. He put it down. “I’ll say ‘yeah’ if you go.” He retorted, raising an eyebrow.

    They must have been staring at each other for too long because Yuuri cleared his throat and Viktor looked at his watch. “Jeez, talking about going, it’s time we be on our way, Yurio.”

    Otabek got up, offering to be the one to open the door for them. They didn’t leave the counter area for a while, though, all of them too busy saying their goodbyes. Beka kissed Yuri’s cheek, asked him if he’d slept well.

    “Well, but not enough.” He replied. “Did you sleep at all?”

    Beka had to shake his head. Yuri instantly cupped his chin. “Man, what am I gonna do with you…” He murmured, before kissing Otabek’s lips. He pulled away making a face. “Is that what your coffee tastes like? Oh my God, how do you drink this?”

    “My, oh, my, do we have a Russian man complaining about strong, bitter drinks?” And Otabek teased, playfully going in for kisses as Yuri ran away from him, laughing, to the door. He wasn’t grumpy anymore.

    Otabek changed to his regular, not playful tone. “Yura.”

   The blonde turned around, thinking the game was over, and Otabek grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into a kiss.

    “Fuck you, Beka, and your bitter bean juice!” Yura said, rubbing the back of his hand on his lips, barely holding in his giggles.

    “Thank you for the coffee, Otabek!” Viktor exclaimed as he opened the door to the driver’s seat.

    “How can you thank him for that poison?” Beka heard Yuri asking as he entered the passenger side. “Weirdo.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

    It turned out Layla was the one to use the fourth ticket because Leo would be working. The guys were starting to notice that Lay seemed to be hanging with Phichit more. He barely mentioned Carter or anyone else. Perhaps the Thai man was ready to settle down. They took an Uber to Otis, watching the sunset on the way. Otabek was concerned about going to a club when he wasn’t - and he didn’t even want to think it not to remind himself - manic. He kept repeating to himself that he could leave at any time. He’d try, but, if it got too hard, he would go home. He dreaded the thought of having to say that to Yuri, though. He’d promised to take him drinking.

     It was more of an event than Otabek expected. There was press outside, cameras and reporters. He started getting nervous, thinking his gray long-sleeved shirt was under-dressing, even though he had worn the most social pair of pants that he owned and he was wearing leather boots instead of sneakers, and had a fresh haircut. They all, the people inside, looked so intimidating, with their jackets and silk dresses, cocktails in hand. The friends decided to get in from the back; there was too much commotion at the entrance of the hall. Of course there was, though, it was Yuri Plisetsky. Every artist and art admirer wanted to know more about him, to get a quick glance of him when he made his opening speech. Beka and his friends didn’t manage to hear it, though, since Viktor had only been able to allow security to let them in after it was done and people were allowed to roam through. And, when they did get in, Yuri was outside, giving interviews.

     Otabek had seen most of the pieces, but it was marvelous nonetheless. There was a screen streaming videos of Yuri’s past showcases, even Vanity and Smoke Out. People were squeezing each other to take a look. The awe on their faces made Otabek’s chest swell with pride. They walked around, stopped at each and everyone of the pieces, until they got to the second to last, Phichit and Yuuri with a cocktail in hand, Beka and Layla saving the drinks for the party. It was the one Yuri called “Runner”, the one he painted for Otabek. It looked beautiful in those lights. Below every canvas, there was a plaque that read “DO NOT TOUCH”, but under that one, with black marker, Yuri had written “Unless you’re Otabek Altin”.

     Beka knew he was blocking the view of the painting. He knew he was on the way. But he was so grateful then, he felt… Special. So he grinned to himself, he grinned at Yuri’s handwriting of his name, at the permission to touch, the exception that it meant. Therefore, he let the tips of his fingers feel the wire stained with bloody red. It was his. That was him.

      “I’m sorry, could it be _you’re_ Otabek Altin?” The feminine voice pulled Beka out of his daydream. She was recording on her phone. His heart jumped. “I’m Caitlin Walsh, I’m a reporter for Otis magazine.”

       _She’s a student._ Her straight brown hair and squared glasses reminded him of some 2014 Youtuber. What was her name, again? Otabek nodded, realizing he had taken too long.

     “Wow! How does it feel to be the only one allowed by Mr. Plisetsky to touch one of his paintings?”

     She was too loud. She was grabbing too much attention. People were starting to look. He didn’t want to be on some school magazine. On any publication for that matter. If he said that he was honored or something, then she’d ask what was his relationship with Yuri. Did people outside of AIC even know they were dating? What the hell was he supposed to say? _Stop panicking._ Another recorder on his face. He said he was Tim something from some Art blog Otabek couldn’t even make out because there were so many people around him he was about to go crazy.

     “Excuse me,” Peach said, throwing an arm around Otabek’s shoulder and a hand on his chest. “My friend here isn’t a public person, so please give him space, he won’t be answering your questions at this time.”

     He could hear Layla repeating “Move, people, move” as they got out to the back exit. It must’ve freaked Katsuki out, too, Otabek was sure he had gone look for Viktor or Yuri.

     “There, free at last!” Phichit exclaimed when they got out.

     “Are you okay? Do you want water or something?”

     Otabek shook his head, dreading that he had been a nuisance more than anything. “Thanks, I’ll just get some air. You guys can go back in.”

    After asking if he was sure countless times, the couple left. Alone, leaning on the back wall of the exhibit hall, Otabek cursed himself. He was so frustrated. _It_ _was_ _just_ _a_ _question._ It was a girl doing her job and he had just stood there, frozen.

     “Damn it.” He whispered to himself, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

     “ _Psssst_.”

     Otabek turned and there was Yuri, wearing his black hoodie and thigh-highs, the same braids that he had done on Layla on his hair. He had a locket necklace on that sparkled in the night, but the beacon was his eyes. Yuri didn’t say anything, he just placed one hand on Otabek’s cheek and kissed him slowly. Beka felt so guilty for not managing to keep his cool during the painter’s showing, he felt almost shy to reciprocate.

      “I told them reporters weren’t allowed inside after it was open for visitors, but I guess they didn’t even consider themselves reporters. “

      “Why are you explaining to me?” Beka asked, pulling up the hood and covering Yuri’s head, just like he had done the last time the Kazakh had been crowded. He hugged Yuri’s neck. “I get it. I’m sorry for the scene.”

       “Idiot, what scene?” The blonde asked, his fingers digging in Otabek’s back.

       Beka huffed and pulled away. Then, even though there was fabric between Yuri’s cheek and his hand, he caressed it. Yura, with his attentive eyes, even more feline-like because of the sharp wings on his lids, accepted it. So, with the other palm, Otabek touched the fabric covering Yuri’s other cheek.   _“Do not touch, unless you’re Otabek Altin.”_

        “I touched ‘Runner’.” Beka told him.

        Yuri placed his own hands over the Kazakh’s. “Of course you did.” He murmured. “It’s yours.”

       Beka stepped forward, their faces so close to each other the Kazakh could feel Yuri’s breathing on his skin. They kissed, and Otabek was able, for the first time, to keep Yuri’s face in place like the blonde did his. When they pulled away, Yuri’s nails still on Otabek’s sides, the Kazakh pulled the hood back down. “Congratulations. Everyone is so impressed by you.”

        “What did _you_ think?”

        “It’s beautiful. Everything.” He kissed the blonde’s forehead. “You.” Otabek showed Yuri a smile. “I’m so proud of you, Yura.”

       And there it was, the grin that turned into a smile. _Beautiful, most precious thing._

       “So, we’re sneaking out or what?”

       “Of your own exhibit?”

       “Already did what I had to do. Viktor will say goodbye to everyone.”

       “It’s not ‘cause of me, is it?”

       “Come on, Beka, I’d do it anyway. These things are boring as fuck and they won’t even let me drink! Can you believe they offered me orange fucking soda?! I’M NINETEEN, I AIN’T GODDAMN KEL—-“

        “Okay, okay, I hear you.” He said, bringing the blonde’s head to his chest. Yuri rested his cheek on it and Otabek got an arm around his shoulder. “Just didn’t want to interfere with your work, baby.”

        “I might be stating the obvious,” He started, caressing the side of Otabek’s neck “but you worry too much.”

        Beka scoffed, looking up. _Too much._

        “It’s adorable.” Yuri said, tapping the tip of the Kazakh’s nose.

 

* * *

 

 

       All of them ended up meeting up and going to a Russian restaurant, probably the one Viktor spoke about at the airport, the one Yuri liked. They arrived too early for the Professor’s reservation, so they sat at a waiting lounge while Yuri and Layla took the time to go the bathroom. She’s asked him to do her make-up for the party, or something. The blonde said he’d brought every neon thing he had that was safe for skin.

      “I’ve been dying to talk to you guys.” Peach said, as soon as they were left alone.

      “Something wrong?” Yuuri asked.

      “No, listen,” the Thai man began. He took a deep breath. “I broke up with Carter yesterday.”

      There was no reaction from the group. After exchanging glances with the others, Yuuri was the one to address it.

       “We… Kind of figured.” He said, adjusting himself to sit face-to-face with his friend. “The point is: have you realized it yourself?”

      The Thai man ruffled his own hair and sighed. “I didn’t think it’d ever come to this, but I—“ He checked to see if they were coming back. “I don’t want to be with anyone else, you know? The rules of, like, splitting my time - time that I barely even have - and her splitting her time, it feels like such a waste now. Whenever I’m not with her, it’s _boring.”_

      “Is Lay seeing anyone else?”

      “Right now? I don’t even know… I’m afraid to ask. I mean, I actually want to ask her if she wants to try being monogamous.”

      “10 out of 10 would recommend.” Viktor told him, kissing his boyfriend’s cheek. “I’ve had my fair share of trying things out, but love is too distinct, you know? I don’t know if it happens twice. At least, not for me.”

      Otabek was subconsciously nodding at the affirmation. He realized it by Viktor’s grin. Thank goodness Lay and Yura came back and they were called to the their table. It turned out Yura liked the restaurant because their pirozhki tasted the most similar to his grandfather’s, and they had tried every other restaurant that sold it in Los Angeles and adjacent towns.

      Yura was nineteen. He hated the bitter taste of Otabek’s coffee, would pass orange soda for a cocktail at anytime and his skin was sensitive even to the adhesive on a band-aid.

     He had a grandfather called Nikolai who lived in St. Petersburg with his mom and called him before going to bed every American-late-in-the-morning.

     Yuri liked the taste of bubblegum on everything, he was trying to finish university early and he also had a tattoo of “Waste of Paint” lyrics.

    He liked anime, the sound of the piano and learning new things. When things got worse than normal, he did painful things to himself or let people he didn’t know nor want to know do painful things to him.

   Yura was growing his hair out. He liked Otabek’s Michigan accent and thought craft beer was tasteless and condescending. He also loved when Otabek called him “Yura”

    Beka could touch him from the neck down. He wasn’t allowed to feel the hotness of his cheeks when he blushed or to learn how to braid his hair.

   Otabek could wake up in the same room as Yuri, just not on the same bed. Maybe in the same bed, but not facing each other. Maybe facing each other, but not touching each other. Maybe touching each other, but only where it didn’t hurt.

    

    Beka’s thoughts had gone off the rails again.

 

    Yura couldn’t cook for shit. His favorite food was his grandfather’s pirozhki. He liked a place called Romanov, in Studio City, where he could remember what was like to be home without hearing the raging sound of the storm outside.

 

* * *

 

 

     Viktor had no problem with Yuri showing a fake ID. In fact, he had been the one who’d had it made for him to be able to walk more freely. Inside, however, while the rest of them hit the dance floor, Otabek and Yuri stayed at the bar. It wasn’t as dark as Otabek had imagined. They could still see people clearly, wearing mostly white and with hand-drawn patterns on their faces that glowed neon. Yuri had only done an orange line on top of his black eyeliner, he looked stunning as he was, but, when he took off the hoodie and tied it around his wait, he was wearing white, yes, but a lace torn sleeveless top with loose thread that turned lilac in the light. Otabek had taken off his shirt and was wearing only the white undershirt he had underneath for the occasion. When the bartender got to them, Yuri leaned in flirtatiously, his fake ID under his finger on the counter.

      “A ‘Sex in the Driveway’.”

      It helped to flirt with bartenders that cocktails had such explicit names. It was one of the blue ones, sweet, with vodka and Sprite. Quite strong.

      “Aren’t you nineteen?” The bartender asked.

      “Do you think so?” Yuri countered.

      “I know you, you’re Yuri Plisetsky. I go to Otis, you know? You’re the talk of the school.”

      “Do all of the people from that school have a problem with me drinking?”

      “No, just wanna keep my job. I won’t tell on you, you can enjoy the party with your guy here.”

      “I’ll have the same one.” Otabek said, his real ID on the counter, fearless.

      “You’ll just give it to him.” The guy retorted.

      “Not your problem. I can do whatever I want, I don’t work here.”

      Reluctantly, the guy started making the drink.

      “If I see him with this, I’ll call the bouncer.”

      Yuri rolled his eyes and scoffed, already getting up. “Whatever.”

      Beka followed him. He was pissed. It had to be annoying for him to be treated like a child, even though he was legal in his own country and paid his own bills. He walked in front of Otabek further and further away from the area where people where dancing. Beka jogged to take his hand and turn him around.

       “Don’t look at me, I feel ridiculous— what are you doing?”

       Beka took a gulp and, as their locked lips hid it, Yura was the one who swallowed. They weren’t breaking any rules.

 

* * *

 

 

      It _was_ too crowded for Otabek. It had only been an hour, but he would rather be home. Yura was dancing with everyone and Beka could see him from the other side of the bar where he sat, exchanging the cocktail glass for a bottle of vodka. Suddenly, the same bartender came to pester him as if he weren’t on edge enough already.

      “You got yourself quite the stunner.” He said, behind Otabek, probably eyeing Yuri as well. Beka didn’t bother to reply. “About before, I did it ‘cause it’s not safe for a guy with his looks here. Specially if he’s drunk. All kinds of people come to this place, and some of them are bad news. They won’t mind drugging him or waiting for him to be too drunk to consent.”

       “You clearly don’t know Yuri at all.” Otabek said, taking a sip of his vodka.

       He figured the bartender had left after a moment of silence. If the guy had really meant to not put the teen in danger, then maybe Otabek should have thanked him. He hadn’t liked it, though. It was probably just because he wasn’t comfortable there at all and already almost annoyed by every beat of the music. Even when he had come to places like Lure - either to hook up or support Leo -, he never stayed long. He had dragged himself to be there already, he didn’t have the will left to try to enjoy himself. Yura was fine. He was dancing, he was happy, he was always near his friends, not leaving openings for strangers. If anybody harassed him, he’d cut them with that holographic switch-blade he carried and Viktor would be glad to finish them off. Otabek was useless there. He was just getting caught up on the way the bartender fixated on Yuri’s looks. He didn’t like it. At all.

       A woman sat next to him, asked for a refill, flirted with a different bartender, then refocused her attention on Otabek.

       “What about you, handsome? ‘Come alone?”

       As much as the Kazakh wanted to roll his eyes, it wasn’t her fault. On one of those worse-than-normal days, he would have said “yeah” and they’d end up doing whatever she was up for in the bathroom. Beka didn’t even carry condoms anymore. He had negative interest on anyone other than Yuri. Beka just shook his head and got up, trying to avoid the awkwardness, thinking that there was a reason she thought he had come alone and that was because he was. The blonde on the dance-floor, who he had watched from afar for a long time, was his boyfriend, now. And he still was, just admiring him from a distance, being useless even for a bartender to trust that Otabek would be there for him. The guy probably thought Yuri was just a hook-up. Fuck, he hated that. While his throat burned and head felt heavy, Beka met his boyfriend, who welcomed him by throwing his arms around his neck, swinging his hips to lead Beka into dancing. He did. It was so much louder there. He could smell weed and alcohol. It was so crowded, even Yura had sweat dripping down his messy braids. He was gorgeous. Otabek wanted to focus on that. He wanted them to keep dancing, but could physically feel people passing by him, dragging their shoulders on his back. He kissed Yuri, deep and wet, their bodies pressed against each other, the blonde’s fingers in his hair, his nails in his biceps. It felt _so_ good. Too good. He was getting dizzy from overstimulation. When they let go of each other, Beka let his head down on Yuri’s shoulder, afraid of looking at anymore lights and getting a migraine.

       “Focus on me.” Yuri said in his ear, moving to kiss Beka’s neck, biting and sucking it, it would certainly leave a mark. Otabek was too out of it to stop the action from going straight to his groin. “Give me that.” The blonde said, taking the bottle on vodka from his hand. The Kazakh felt the alcohol drip on his neck, it stung where Yuri had bitten it. “Don’t pay attention to anyone else.” He said, licking the liquid and leaning back, tilting his head to clash their lips.

       Otabek closed his eyes and he felt it, Yuri’s tongue on his, the grinding of their hips, the saltiness of their sweat, his boyfriend’s hand on one of his back pockets, pushing him into the friction, so he wouldn’t run away. Damn it, if he were to obey his body, Otabek would pin his to a wall, rip the top that he was wearing to shreds and drink him up until the crack of dawn. Compared to anything else they had done, that was dangerously intense. Beka tried to sense any hint of hesitation on Yuri’s moves, but there was nothing. On the contrary, he kept pushing, placing his leg in the middle of Beka’s, teasing him until his pants were suddenly too tight and Yuri’s hand sneaked to touch his arousal over the jeans.

       “You’re hard.” The blonde said into his ear, stating the obvious again.

       “You know what you’re doing.” Otabek replied, biting Yuri’s lip and pulling it slightly.

       Yura smirked, pleased, and he took Beka’s hand. “Come with me.”

       Coming out of the crowd was a blur. Everything else was foggy, except for the blonde in front of him, guiding him through his failed senses. When the music was far enough to be lower and they were close enough to the bathrooms for the smell of marijuana smoke to be stronger, Otabek stopped.

      “Yura, where are we going?”

      The painter turned his head, nonchalantly. “ _I’m_ gonna blow you.” And he started pulling Beka by the hand again.

       Red flags. So many of them. _No, no, he’s gonna hate me— we can’t go anywhere near this road, it’s too dangerous._

       “Hey, hey, hey.” Otabek started, forcing him to stop. Yuri turned to him. “Baby, if we take this too far…” _I’m scared you’ll leave._

The teen placed both of his hands on the sides of Otabek’s neck. “Relax, loverboy. I know what I’m doing.” He reassured him, giving the Kazakh a soft peck on the lips. “ _This_ I can do. I want to. Don’t you?”

       “But, Yura, what if something… changes? With us?”

      “Will you jump me?”

      “ _What?_ No!”

      “Then we’ll be fine.”

 

* * *

 

 

     At their core, men were weak. Not in a way that made them not mentally capable of making decisions, but, Jesus Christ, were they ridden by their lower halves. Just when would have Otabek, not swollen to the point where it was painful, have found it “fine” to have Yuri Plisetsky unzipping his jeans and pushing him ass-first on a close-lidded toilet in a Studio City night-club? It wasn’t his first time fooling around in a stall, but, God damn it, Yuri deserved better. Beka was a poor, poor boyfriend who couldn’t reason after checking that Yura was sober and conscious enough of his decisions.

      He looked like a vision, on his knees, taking Otabek in his mouth the same way that he kissed, slow to the point of impatience, but, suddenly, with such pressure - the perfect, mind-blowing amount of pressure - that Beka didn’t know if he focused on lasting or in the blood-rushing fact that Yuri Plisetsky deep-throated him. And he really wasn’t the type of guy to care a whole lot about that aspect, but Yuri...

       “Fuck…” He murmured, biting the inside of his lip. Yuri hummed around him. “Yura…”

       The blonde glanced at him still, his braids mostly undone, his eyeliner smearing on the sides, flushed cheeks that explained why it was so hot on the roof of his mouth. Otabek had to crumble the rim of his shirt to give his dominant hand something to do not to touch Yuri’s hair because that was absolutely what he would do if he were allowed. He’d play with it, never leave it on his boyfriend’s face. Otabek wanted to, so much, to treat him gently. He didn’t want that to be another hook-up on a worse-than-normal day. But he couldn’t touch Yuri.

         As weak as men were when their blood ran South, they were still accountable. Otabek was still accountable. That was Yuri taking control. He’d give it to him, gladly, because on top of everything, it felt _so_ good. The blonde sneaked his hand under the Kazakh’s shirt and kept it on his abs for support as he sped up the pace with such skill that it was intimidating. He let his nails scratch Otabek’s skin, which made him groan, throaty and masculine, and it made him understand what Yuri meant about the whole “alpha” talk. It wasn’t really about dominance, it was about refinement. Otabek wasn’t refined in the slightest, he rough in a way that matched getting head in a bathroom. Apparently, however, so was Yuri. Gracious, sensual, gorgeous Yuri, whose lips were sinful - and beautiful - around his cock.

      “ _Ah… Let go, Yura—“_ Otabek said, holding in the urge to touch Yuri, to have him look, because he needed him to _stop. “Let go, baby— Ah, fuck… Yura, I’m gonna cum soon—“_

More than completely ignoring Otabek, Yuri scratched up both sides of his inner thighs as he sucked him like his life depended on it and the Kazakh did not know what kind of fucking tantric trick that was but he was throwing his head back, overwhelmed by the strength of his orgasm, before he could even muster the voice to say anything further.

      “Your semen tastes better than your coffee, what does that tell ya?” The blonde said, his voice a little hoarse from what he’d been doing - and what he had swallowed.

     Still not in full control of his breathing, Otabek managed to smirk and reach to get some toilet paper and give Yuri first, before getting some more to wipe his own— _Really, not classy at all._ Yuri got up and Otabek did the same, needing - urgently - to pull his pants back up.

     “Glad you don’t hate it.” Beka replied, sitting back down because he really wasn’t ready to come out. “That was awesome.” He said, unsure of how he had managed to get such a wonder of a boyfriend. “What do we do with you?” Otabek asked, glancing at the blonde’s own bulge.

      Yuri licked his lips. “I don’t think I can, you know, have you…”

      “I know.” Otabek said, partly guilty for the one-sidedness of it all. “Do it yourself.”

      “Here?”

      “Can I watch?”

      Sometimes Yuri chuckled like he also wondered how he had met someone like Otabek. He went on to undo what was left of his braids.Then he smirked and reached his button.

      “Art kids really do need Jesus.” He joked.

      With his back to the stall’s door, Yuri took himself in hand and stared at his boyfriend with dazed eyes as he worked his erection. Hypnotized as his mouth began to water, Beka observed him like his god of worship. There was nothing he didn’t love about Yuri, that was all that he could think about. Whatever he wanted, he should have it. If he was looking for pleasure then somehow, someway, they’d figure it out. They were art kids. They were creative. That had to have been killing Yuri, he moaned like he could cum at any time. At that time, Beka forgot that he couldn’t touch him. He didn’t want to. He was enjoying every second of voyeur. Yuri had done it. Even though just a while before Otabek was a nervous wreck in a crowd, he was paying attention only to the most enthralling person he had ever laid eyes on. It was true, it wasn’t classy at all, the place, the time, the music. Nothing was ideal. But, from his perspective, the cinematography was perfect. The view was like a French film, dark and ahead of its time. Absolutely stunning.

       _Art._

      “Yura.” Otabek managed to voice as the blonde’s breathing got heavy. The Kazakh put a finger on his own bottom lip. “Is it my turn?”

    Yuri bit his lip almost annoyed that Beka had teased that way, so much that he slowed down to keep himself from cumming. “On your knees.” His voice was even more hoarse. Probably the sexiest tone Otabek had ever heard, so he gladly obeyed.

     Beka was very aware that Yura’s dick was right on his face, but he made it a point to not avert Yuri’s gaze as he left his mouth agape. The blonde picked up the pace again, one hand on his length, the other grabbing Otabek by the hair, keeping him in place.

      “I’m really…” He was close. His fingers were tightening on the Kazakh’s hair, but his eyes were as fierce as ever. “Really fucking crazy for you.”

       Perhaps Otabek’s heart was in the verge of stopping. As much as he tried to look unfazed not to break the mood, he’d heard that loud and clear and it echoed through his bloodstream. Then he felt it, Yuri’s taste, hot on his tongue. He drank it like wine. He’d never had a preference for white or red or saké. Then, however, he’d found his favorite. He swallowed and opened his mouth again to show that he had. Yuri chuckled as he tried to catch his breath and he smiled. It was true, that was his first time doing anything for pleasure with someone else, wasn’t it? He’d really been wanting that. Beka didn’t regret it anymore, the settings in which it had happened. It happened the way Yuri wanted it to. As it should have. He reached back for the toilet paper again and handed some to Yuri.

      “May I stand now, my lord?” Otabek asked, half-playing a part, half-ironizing the way Yuri had ordered him to get on his knees. He got up anyway and reached down for the vodka bottle on the floor.

      “Milord…” The blonde tested the sound in his mouth. “Nah, too manly for me.”

     Seeing that Yuri had settled again, Otabek did pin him to the door. He was dying to do it. Yura looked so beautiful sweaty and messy, Beka had never seen it before. It would be too obvious if they went back.

      “My king,” He started, kissing the corner of one of Yuri’s eyes. “My queen,” Otabek tried, kissing the other.

      “Better.”

      “May we go home now?”

      “You think they noticed us missing?” Otabek nodded assertively. For damn sure they were already supposing what was going on. “Okay, so we just tell them we left.”

      “Right, but first,” He began, taking a gulp of the lukewarm drink.

      “What?”

      Beka took another and kissed Yuri, having the blonde drink from him again. “Mouthwash.”

      Yuri smiled. “Now I know what to do when you’re drinking coffee. Bird-feed you Listerine.”

 

* * *

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this ain’t porn~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> See you soon ♡


End file.
